ver ze fear--vat you call ze 'shyness'--is
it not so?"

Fraeulein Bernhardt was an excellent teacher--patient, conscientious,
and enthusiastic. She tried to inspire all her pupils with her own love
for music, and with some indeed she succeeded, though with others it
proved a more difficult task.

"I'm almost impossible!" avowed Lettice Talbot. "I believe I'm nearly
as bad as the old fellow who declared he only knew two tunes--one was
'God Save the King', and the other wasn't."

"You certainly have a particularly leaden touch," agreed Dorothy
Arkwright. "The way you hammer out Mendelssohn is enough to try my
nerves, so I'm sure it must be an offence to Fraeulein."

"I think it's stupid to be obliged to learn the piano when you've
absolutely no taste for it," yawned Lettice. "I'm going to ask Father
to let me give it up next term."

"Don't!" interposed Vivian Holmes, who happened to overhear Lettice's
remark. "I went through that same phase myself, when I was fourteen. I
implored my mother to allow me to stop music, and she had nearly
consented when I met a lady who advised me most strongly to go on. She
said she couldn't play herself, and regretted it immensely now she was
grown-up, and would be thankful if she could manage even a hymn tune.
So I did go on, and now I'm very glad. I'm certain you'll like it
better, Lettice, when you've got over more of the drudgery."

"Perhaps it will never be anything but drudgery for me!"

"Oh, yes, it will! We shall have you taking part in the 'Friday firsts'
yet."

On the first Friday in every month Miss Maitland held a "Mutual
Improvement Evening", at which all who were sufficiently advanced were
expected to contribute by playing, singing, or reciting. These were
quite informal gatherings, only Chaddites being present. Miss Cavendish
considered it good for teachers and pupils to meet thus socially, and a
similar arrangement obtained at each house. To many of the girls,
however, it was more of an ordeal to be obliged to perform before their
schoolfellows than it would have been to play to strangers.

"I'm always nervous, in any case," said Pauline Reynolds; "but
strangers don't criticize one openly afterwards, whatever they may
think in private. I feel it's perfectly dreadful to have Fraeulein and
Miss Maitland and Miss Parkinson sitting on one side, and all of you in
a row on the other!"

"But we're very polite," urged Lettice. "We say, 'Thank you!'"

Honor had not yet