Claudia blushed consciously.
"That was altogether different. I hated the idea of teaching kindergarten. But to study singing! I'd love it! You know how fond I am of music—as fond as Morland is, really, only I never had his fingers for the piano. I shouldn't be much of a player, I know; but to sing! It's my ideal! I'll go and write to Rosemary now, and say I'm ready to be her pupil to-morrow. Oh, it is good of her!"
So the exercises and studies came out of their retirement in the dark cupboard after all, and Rosemary grew so interested in "putting Claudia through her paces", as she described it, that her own bitter disappointment began somehow to soften and tone down. Claudia was a pattern pupil. To begin with, her voice was such excellent material to work upon; then she had a very world of young enthusiasm, and was sufficiently modest to accept her teacher's dicta without argument. She practised diligently, and the training soon began to tell. In quite a short time there was marked improvement. Rosemary, listening to her deliciously pure high notes, felt a vicarious satisfaction. They were so exactly what she had always longed to produce herself.
"I shan't write to Signor Arezzo till we're through Book II," she decreed. "If you go on at this rate, I think he'll be satisfied when he hears you. If he accepts you, I shall be proud!"
For answer, Claudia flung her arms round Rosemary's neck and hugged her.
"You're the sweetest, kindest, most unselfish darling in the whole of the wide world!" she blurted out.
CHAPTER XVII
A Mid-term Beano
Though Lorraine and Claudia might regard Madame Bertier with more or less suspicion, she was an immense favourite with the rest of the school. The Misses Kingsley found the vivacious little Russian lady one of the best teachers they had ever had, and treasured her accordingly, while most of the girls still revolved round her orbit. She was undoubtedly very clever and fascinating. There is a certain type of pretty woman who can be adorable to her own sex. Madame liked admiration, if it were only that of a schoolgirl, and she thought the flowers and little notes that were showered upon her charming tokens of her popularity.
"They practise their hearts upon me, these poor children!" she would observe sentimentally. "The little love letters! Ah, they are tout à fait gentilles! Wait a few years! They will be writing them to somebody more interesting than their teacher! Oh, yes! I know well!"