He hated to go, but he was only a teacher, and at his first lesson, too.
She also rose, and waited for him to leave the room.

He could not hold his tongue.
"Signorina--" he stammered, and checked himself.

She looked at him, to listen, but his heart smote him when he had thus arrested her attention.
What could he say as he stood bowing?
It was sufficiently stupid, what he said.
"I shall have the honour of returning to-morrow, the day after to-morrow, I would say." "Yes," said she, "I believe that is the arrangement.

Good-morning, Signor Professore." The title of professor rang strangely in his ear.
Was there the slightest tinge of irony in her voice?
Was she laughing at his boyish looks?
Ugh! the thought tingled.

He bowed himself out.
That was the first lesson, and the second was like it, I suppose, and a great many others about which I knew nothing, for I was always occupied in the middle of the day, and did not ask where he went.