The Pupil

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CHAPTER I


The poor young man hesitated and procrastinated: it cost him such an
effort to broach the subject of terms, to speak of money to a person who
spoke only of feelings and, as it were, of the aristocracy. Yet he was
unwilling to take leave, treating his engagement as settled, without some
more conventional glance in that direction than he could find an opening
for in the manner of the large affable lady who sat there drawing a pair
of soiled gants de Suède through a fat jewelled hand and, at once
pressing and gliding, repeated over and over everything but the thing he
would have liked to hear. He would have liked to hear the figure of his
salary; but just as he was nervously about to sound that note the little
boy came back—the little boy Mrs. Moreen had sent out of the room to
fetch her fan. He came back without the fan, only with the casual
observation that he couldn’t find it. As he dropped this cynical
confession he looked straight and hard at the candidate for the honour of
taking his education in hand. This personage reflected somewhat grimly
that the thing he should have to teach his little charge would be to
appear to address himself to his mother when he spoke to her—especially
not to make her such an improper answer as that.