“A man?” she ejaculated.
“I can’t tell you that.”
“I know it was. Because you said ‘his.’”
“Then why did you ask me?”
She swung round on the stool and clasped her hands below her knees. Her eyes were fiercely bright.
“What are Razounov’s fees?” she said quietly.
“Three guineas a lesson.”
“And yours?”
“For purposes of musical instruction I am Razounov. He only supervises. It is a fortunate arrangement, because I am a much better teacher than he.”
She looked at him a little amazed. For the first time she caught herself admiring him. She admired the calm, straightforward, unqualified way he had said that he was a much better teacher than Razounov. It was not conceit. She was glad he knew how to appraise himself. She admired him for not being afraid to do so. In her eyes was the message: “So you too have found out that overmodesty is not a virtue? So have I.”