“I expect you’ll find her rather bad at lessons,” said Michael doubtfully.
He was almost afraid that Miss Carthew might leave in despair at Stella’s ineptitude.
“Lots of people are stupid at first,” said Miss Carthew.
Michael blushed: he remembered a certain morning when capes and promontories got inextricably mixed in his mind and when Miss Carthew seemed to grow quite tired of trying to explain the difference.
“Will you teach her the piano now?” he enquired.
“Oh dear, no. I’m not clever enough to do that.”
“But you teach me.”
“That’s different. Stella will be a great pianist one day,” said Miss Carthew earnestly.
“Will she?” asked Michael incredulously. “But I don’t like her to play a bit—not a bit.”
“You will one day. Great musicians think she is wonderful.”