"I behaved foolishly last Tuesday;" she remarked at length, speaking with her back impolitely turned towards him, and a mixture of shame and triumph on the face which he could not see. "I lost my temper which was ill bred; and," turning round and laughingly openly, "I'm afraid that I'm not so sorry as I ought to be. Don't," putting up her hand as he essayed to speak, "go on making excuses--your very apologies but condemn me further. It was most ungracious on my part after Miss Bolton's condescension in coming; yet how was I to know that she was so supersensitive?" "I ought to have warned you," he answered. "But never mind now; there is very little harm done, only I am afraid that you have lost a pupil." "And isn't that highly deplorable," cried Jill, "considering how few I have?" But St. John was not to be drawn into any expression of sympathy; personally he felt no inconvenience, and he shrewdly suspected that Miss Erskine was not particularly distressed herself. He sat down and work commenced as usual. St. John was getting on more quickly than his teacher had imagined that he would. He was not likely to ever make an artist but still he progressed very fairly in amateur fashion. His eye unfortunately was not true; he could never see when a thing was out of drawing, but he was always ready to listen to advice, and correct his work under supervision. His greatest fault was a desire to get on too quickly; and Jill had to assert her authority on more than one occasion to restrain him, and keep his ambition in check. One day, several weeks after the Bolton episode, he suggested that it was time he commenced painting; he was tired of black and white. He was then drawing from the bust of Clytie, and had only just begun working from the cast. Jill was not in a good temper that morning--things had not been prospering with her lately--and so St. John's ill-timed suggestion met with scant consideration. "You want to run before you can walk," she returned with ill-humoured sarcasm. "Some people are like that. I knew of a girl once who was learning riding and insisted on cantering the second time she went out. The result was not altogether satisfactory; for it left her sitting in the middle of the road. Last week I yielded to your insane desire to attempt Clytie; the attempt is a failure; and so you want to begin painting." "Well," he answered not exactly pleased by her manner of refusing his petition. "I certainly should like to vary the monotony. I don't see why I shouldn't paint one day a week and draw on the other."