"Elizabeth Bruce, return to your class," said a stern voice from the schoolroom, and Betty shot herself back through the door in the twinkling of an eye.
A lengthy space of valuable time was given over to moods and tenses, perfects, pluperfects, pasts, futures; and Betty, whose fortitude was much shaken by John Brown's remarks, sat listlessly five places above him, caring not the least about such mighty words as "cans" and "coulds" and "shalls" and "shoulds," although the air was full of them.
She went down a place, through not being able to find a passive participle for the verb "to bid," Miss Sharman shaking an angry head at her eager "bidded." And she went down two for knowing nothing of the present tense of "slain."
That brought her one place removed from John Brown, and all her eagerness now was to go one lower and learn at once wherein lay her offence.
So, although she knew perfectly that the verb "to fall" had "fell" for its past participle, she uttered an eager "failed" and sat next to John Brown.
"Disgraceful!" said Miss Sharman. "You could not have opened your book, Elizabeth (which was only too true). Your little sister Nancy, in the babies' class, could have told you that."
But Elizabeth saved herself with the verb, "to sing," and sat uneasily in case John should blunder over "to fight." But he was quite correct and did not need his small neighbour's eager whisper.
And then Miss Sharman passed on to other verbs and other pupils, and John and Betty were left in peace, side by side, outwardly two indifferently intelligent pupils, inwardly perplexed, distressed and elated by their new ambition.
"What have I done?" whispered Betty.
"Silly!" whispered John.