"I shall do nothing of the kind," retorted Diana promptly. "You threw it there, and you can pick it up. I'm going home." And, turning her back upon him, she marched towards the door.
A sudden twinkle showed itself in Baroni's eyes. With unaccustomed celerity he pranced after her.
"Come back, little Pepper-pot, come back, then, and we will continue the lesson."
Diana turned and stood hesitating.
"Who's going to pick up that music?" she demanded unflinchingly.
"Why, I will, thou most obstinate child"—suiting the action to the word. "Because it is true that professors should not throw music at their pupils, no matter"—maliciously—"how stupid nor how dull they may be at their lesson."
Diana flushed, immediately repentant.
"I'm sorry," she acknowledged frankly. "I was being abominably inattentive; I was thinking of something else."
The little scene was characteristic of her—unbendingly determined and obstinate when she thought she was wronged and unjustly treated, impulsively ready to ask pardon when she saw herself at fault.
Baroni patted her hand affectionately.