John stammered, “Not very well⁠—I want Miss Tarrant to give me some more⁠—some more instruction.” And he looked at Muriel, an appealing, pathetic look. He wished very fiercely that Stephen was not there⁠—so easy and dashing, and certain of himself.

And Muriel had no smile for him. She glanced inquiringly at Stephen, and said, with the hard face of a statue, “I’m sorry, I’m doing the next with Mr. Byrne.” And Stephen nodded.