Mrs. Raeburn was presented and dropped her umbrella in embarrassment, making Jenny feel very much ashamed of her mother and wish she were alone with Mr. Vergoe. Then she was introduced herself, and as Madame Aldavini fixed her with a piercing eye, Jenny felt so shy that she was only able to murmur incoherent politeness to the floor. The dancing-mistress got up from her desk and looked critically at the proposed pupil. "You think the child will make a dancer?" she said, turning sharply to Mrs. Raeburn. "Oh, well, really I--well, she's always jigging about, if that's anything to go by." Madame Aldavini gave a contemptuous sniff. "I think she will make a very good dancer," Mr. Vergoe put in. "You've seen her?" "Many times," he said. "In fact, this visit is due to me--in a manner of speaking." "Come, we'll see what she can do," said the mistress, and led the way out of the little room along a glass-covered arcade into the dancing-room. The latter was probably a Georgian ballroom with fine proportions and Italian ceiling. A portion of it was curtained off for the pupils to change into practice dress, and all the way round the walls was a rail for toe-dancing. At the far end was a dais with a big arm-chair and a piano, over which hung a large oil painting of some bygone ballet at the Theatre de l'Opera in Paris, and also an engraving of Taglioni signed affectionately by that great Prima Ballerina Assoluta. Madame Aldavini rang a bell, and presently Miss Carron, her pianist and assistant teacher, came in. Miss Carron was a Frenchwoman, who had lived so long in London that she spoke English better than French, except in moments of great anger, when her native tongue returned to her with an added force of expression from such long periods of quiescence. "What tune do you like, miss?" inquired Madame. "What is her name? Jenny? _Si_, I have no Jenny at present." But the would-be dancer had no tune by name. "Play the what's it called from what's its name," suggested Mr. Vergoe, to help matters along. "_Hein?_" said Miss Carron sharply. "The--you know--the--the--well, anyway, it goes like this," and he hummed the opening bars of the Intermezzo from "Cavalleria." "Ah!" said Miss Carron. "But that's no tune to dance to. You want something to show off the twiddly-bits." "Play the Intermezzo," commanded Madame Aldavini. Miss Carron began, but Jenny could only wriggle in a shamefaced way, and was too shy to start. "You great stupid," said her mother. "One, two, three, off," said Mr. Vergoe. "You are frightened, yes? Timid? Come, I shall not eat you," declared Madame. At last the novice produced a few steps. "Enough," said Madame. "I take her. She will come once a week for the first year, twice a week for the second year, three times a week the third year and every day--how old is she?" "Ten." "Every day when she is thirteen."