“But you’ll make it worse for Miss Thorne,” whispered little Miss Burge; “and she’s worried to death as it is.”
“Well, I don’t want to do that,” he said sulkily; and he held his tongue whilst class after class was examined, even those children who were tried in catechism mixing the answers up in the most absurd way, or staring helplessly in the speaker’s face.
“I don’t care,” whispered Mr William Forth Burge at last; “he don’t know how to ask queshtuns, and for two pins I’d tell him so; now then.”
“Oh don’t, Bill dear; it would not be gentlemanly. Pray do be quiet.”
“Look here, then; if Lambent asks me up to dinner to meet that chap, I shan’t go.”
“Hush, Bill! She’s going to give the girls, a hobject lesson.”
For the crucial time had come, and about forty of the elder girls had been faced and marched into the gallery to sit opposite their teacher, while the visitors rearranged themselves—the Misses Lambent with an air of long-suffering, the vicar with an air of intense trouble upon his face, while Mrs Canninge looked vexed, and the Burges disappointed and cross.
The inspector seated himself at one of the desks and commenced a fresh sheet of paper, while, saving the subdued buzz in the various classes, a painful stillness was in the room, and Hazel felt her heart throb heavily, and plainly heard its beats.
She took a simple subject, and began in a low, trembling voice, which sounded pained and husky, while the intensity of her nervousness was patent to all present; but after she had been going on for a minute or two, to her great relief George Canninge rose and left the schoolroom.
The girls were beginning to answer better now, and Hazel felt her courage rise a little; but her heart sank and she began to tremble again as she heard the door open once more, a step crossing the floor, and coming to where she was speaking. The next moment George Canninge said—