was inclined to take the onus of the misunderstanding
on his own shoulders, Maurice admitted, besides his constant
preoccupation--or possibly just because of it--an innate lack of
sympathy in himself, an inability, either of heart or of imagination,
to project himself into the lives and feelings of people he did not
greatly care for. Otherwise, he would not have gone to Schwarz on such
an errand as today's; he would have remembered that the master was
likely to be sore and suspicious. And, from now on, things would be
worse instead of better. Schwarz had no doubt been left under the
impression that Maurice had wished to complain of his teaching; and
impressions of this nature were difficult to erase.

There was nothing to be done, however, but to plod along in the
familiar rut. He must stomach aspersions and injuries, behave as if
nothing had happened. His first hot intention of turning his back on
Schwarz soon yielded to more worldly-wise thoughts. Every practical
consideration was against it. He might avenge himself, if he liked, by
running to the rival teacher like a crossed child; Schrievers would
undoubtedly receive him with open arms, and promise him all he asked.
But what could he hope to accomplish, under a complete change of
method, in the few months that were left? He would also have to forfeit
his fees for the coming term, which were already paid. Schrievers'
lessons were expensive, and out of the small sum that remained to him
to live on, it would be impossible to take more than half a dozen.
Another than he might have appealed to Schrievers' satisfaction in
securing a fresh convert; but Maurice had learnt too thoroughly by now,
that he was not one of those happy exceptions--exceptions by reason of
their talent or their temperament--to whom a master was willing to
devote his time free of charge.

Over these reflections night had fallen; and rising, he walked speedily
back by the dark wood-paths. But before he reached the meadows, from
which he could see lights blinking in the scattered villas, his steps
had lagged again. His discouragement had nothing chimerical in it at
this moment; it was part and parcel of himself.--The night was both
chilly and misty, and it was late. But a painful impression of the
previous evening lingered in his mind. Louise would be annoyed with him
for keeping her waiting; and he shrank, in advance, from the thought of
another disagreeable scene. He was not in the mood to-night, to