“Look here,” cried Catherine, breaking in raucously upon the silence, “why don’t you tell me straight out I can’t play?” After she had said it she regretted her hastiness. She perceived it was a foolish thing to say. She blushed fiercely. Verreker raised his eyebrows ever so slightly. Razounov beamed beatifically. “My dear lady,” he began caressingly, “I will be perfectly fhrank with you. Eet is best to be fhrank, is eet not? ... You will neffer be a first-class player. Perrhaps a second, ohr a third, pairhaps you may eahrn plenhty of money at eet, but you will never be a--you know what I mean--a ghreat--a suphreme pianiste.” (He meant obviously: “You will never be what I am.”) ... “Why? ... Ah, I cannot tell. Why is zhe ghreat gift given to sohm and not to othairs? ... Eet is that you haf not it in you, that zohmsing, that spark that is cault ghenius ... you understand?” Catherine understood. But she could not disguise her humiliation, her mortification, her disappointment. “Do you agree with me, Verreker?” asked Razounov, as if desiring confirmation of his verdict. Verreker said curtly: “I don’t profess to prophesy these things. Still, in this case, I believe you’re right.” That was worse! There was something contemptuous in those words, “in this case.” Catherine hated him. “Still,” purred Razounov, “you would improve with a course of instruction. You will make a good player if you are careful. I cannot give you lessons myself, as I am engaged all my time, but I will supervise. And Mr. Verreker will gif you a lesson once a week. Efery month I will supervise. Is zhat plain?” Catherine could not answer. She was struggling with tears. The second time that day that tears had troubled her. Yet what a different variety of tears! These were tears of rage and disappointment, of blinding disillusionment, of sullen mortification. She dare not trust herself to reply. If she had attempted a word she would have been caught in a maelstrom of burning indignation. “I will drop you a card when I can give you a first lesson,” said Verreker, quietly.... “Well ... er ... thank you for coming ...” Catherine took the hint and put on her hat. She did not say a word as she left the room. But her eyes were furiously blazing: there was in them that danger glint of which Verreker, if he had seen it, would have done well to beware. Out in the Ridgeway, Catherine decided one thing. She would never take lessons off Verreker; she would never go near that house again.... § 2