Yet it was all so terribly, so tragically dull. Even his brilliance palled. His brilliance was simply an extensive repertoire of smart sayings culled from the works of Ibsen, Shaw, Chesterton, etc. In three months she had heard them all. Moreover, he had begun to repeat some of them. Out of a forlorn craving for incident she quarrelled with him from time to time. His genuine sorrow at the estrangement and his passionate reconciliation afterwards thrilled her once or twice, but after a few repetitions became stale like the rest. Undoubtedly he was in love with her. And she? § 3 Doubtless one of the reasons why George’s engagement to Catherine was not opposed very vigorously by the Trants was Catherine’s startlingly rapid musical development, which seemed to prophesy a future in which anything might be expected. Ever since that Conservative Club concert Catherine had been playing regularly in public and acquiring a considerable local reputation. Occasional guineas and two guineas came her way, and at the opening of the winter season she found herself with as many engagements as she could manage. And at a local musical festival she had come out on top in the professional pianoforte entries. A gold medal and a good deal of newspaper prominence were the visible and immediate results of this. Afterwards came the welcome discovery that she was in demand. A concert organizer offered her five pounds for a couple of solos. An enterprising and newly established photographer photographed her gratis and exhibited a much embellished side view (with a rather fine hair exhibition) in his window. And she ceased to play at church socials.... Every Saturday afternoon she went to Verreker for lessons. Though she disliked him personally, she was compelled to admit the excellence of his teaching. He spared her no criticism, however severe, and when he commended her work, which was rare, she knew he meant it. If a good teacher, he was also an irritating one. He selected her pieces, insisted on her learning those and no others, expected from her a good deal more than it seemed possible for her to give, and treated her generally as a rebellious child. He was always asking her when she was going to resign her position at the theatre. She would never be even a moderate pianist as long as she was there, he said. The time came when it was of financial benefit to her to resign. She did so, and expected him to be very pleased with her. But he merely said: “H’m! I suppose you waited till it paid you to.” This was so true that she had no reply ready. He never disguised from her the fact that, however seemingly she might be advancing on the road to fame and success, she would never become more than a second-rate virtuoso. “The front rank of the second-raters is as high as you’ll ever get,” he said. But that did not hurt her now.