He puffed out a scornful breath and went on, "And for the other half, Miss Mills. You want to learn diction by reading to me. But what you read has sense. It is not just consonants and vowels. And to read it well, you must understand it. And to understand it, you must know something--do you understand me? You must _know_ something. I soon found that you could not understand Moliere, because you know no history, no literature, nor anything else you should have been learning. You cannot read with any over-tones in your voice, unless you understand the over-tones of what you are reading. You cannot read Moliere, or anybody else, as if you were reading, "'_Barbara; celarent; darii; ferio; baralipton._' "Or at least--" His carefully repressed indignation burst for a moment from his control; he said in a roar, "At least you cannot in _my_ loge--not, not even an American, not even a representative of the people of the future!" He had risen to his feet, trembling with his anger, a high-priest rebuking a blasphemy. The girls shrank back, startled. At once he extinguished the flame, went for a moment to the window, and when he turned back, said quietly, "You must excuse an old man's bad temper, Miss Mills, and you must look for a politer, more practical teacher. I can give you the address of one who will suit you. I can, in fact," he said smoothly, "give you the addresses of several hundred who will suit you perfectly. I will send the addresses of several to you. Good-day, Miss Mills. Good-by, Miss...." He was vague as to Marise's name, but murmured something with an absent courtesy. He stepped to the door, opened it with an urbane inclination of the head. Eugenia held in her hand the sealed envelope which contained the usual fee for a lesson, and now looked down at it, uncertain whether she dared offer it. He saw her glance at it, and relieved her of her uncertainty, "No, no fee to-day, Miss Mills. I have given you no lesson." As they passed before him, he added under his breath, "No lesson, that is, that will be of any value to you." Marise glancing over her shoulder, saw him turn at once to the easel and reach for his palette and brushes. He had dropped them from his mind. It was the airy, finishing touch to their humiliation. She burned with anger and shame. They groped their way down the darkened stairs in silence, neither trusting herself to speak, lest she burst into tears. At the bottom Marise said neutrally, "I have a music lesson now. Would you like to come along?"