She did both; her accent and pronunciation were excellent, her translation faultlessly correct.
“You have read that before, Miss—”
“Meredon,” replied the owner of the name.
“Miss Meredon? You have read that before?”
“No. I have heard of it, but I never actually read it before,” she replied innocently, evidently unconscious of the bearing of his remark. Herr Märklestatter’s face grew beaming.
“Very good,” he said; while Charlotte, half clenching her hands under the table, muttered in Gueda’s ears, “I don’t believe it.”
The rest of the lesson went on in due routine, save that Herr Märklestatter made Miss Meredon take regular part in all. It became quickly evident that her first success had been no random shot. She was at home in every detail, so that at the end of the class, when giving out the work for next time, the master told her to write an essay in German as an exercise of style, which would have been beyond the powers of the rest of the pupils. Miss Lloyd came in as he was explaining his wishes.
“You are giving Miss Meredon separate work to do?” she inquired. “If she is not up to the standard of this class, would it not be better—”
But the enthusiastic professor interrupted her.
“My dear madam,” he exclaimed, “not up to this class! Miss—but she is far beyond. Only you would not wish to have a class for one pupil all alone? And it will be of advantage—it will bring new life among us all. Miss Waldron, with your intelligence—for you work well, my dear young lady, only this morning not quite so well as usual—you will enjoy to work with Miss Meredon?” and the good man in his innocence turned his beaming countenance on Charlotte encouragingly.