"I suppose you're one of Herr Hoffmann's pupils," she began, with a glance at the violin-case which lay on the table. "May I ask if you've learnt from him for some time?"
"About five years," replied Mildred, wishing the Professor would hurry, for she always felt shy with strangers.
"Indeed! Then you must have begun young. How old were you when you took your first lesson?"
"Not quite seven; but I learnt from a lady to begin with," said Mildred, listening to Mrs. Hoffmann's step in the passage, and wondering if she were coming to the rescue.
"My little girl's much older than that—she's nearly eleven. I'm sure she ought to commence her lessons at once. I should have sent her to Herr Hoffmann long ago, but she's such a nervous child, and I've always heard he's so very severe. Now, as you've learnt from him for so many years, you'll be able to tell me exactly what he's like. Do you find him a kind teacher or not?"
Poor Mildred scarcely knew what to reply.
"He makes you work," she stammered, hoping, for the Professor's sake, that the remainder of the unlucky Mr. Hardcastle's lesson might go with sufficient smoothness not to give rise to any more expressions of noisy indignation from the adjacent room, and looking anxiously at the clock.
"So I expect. And how long do you practise every day?"
"Two hours at my violin, and one at the piano."
"I should never persuade Dorothea to do that!" cried the lady. "But perhaps just at first an hour would be sufficient for her. Is this some of your music? May I look at it?"