“Yes.”
“Would you like to have it?” he asked with sudden boldness.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you understand?” he rambled on, and explained: “Composers, you know, write songs and piano pieces and orchestral works, and afterward they often dedicate them to somebody—to one of their friends or—or one of their relatives. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what I want to do,” he continued excitedly. “I wrote the piece—it’s nothing wonderful, but I—I put myself into it and—and you like it—”
“Yes.”
“So I’d like to give it to you.”
“But I don’t play,” she protested.
“That isn’t the point,” he declared. “I’m dedicating it to you—that is, your name appears on it: first, the name of the composition, then my name, as composer, and then ‘to Miss Erna Vitek.’ Do you see?”