“Oh yes!”
“Do you like the idea?”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
“Great!” he cried.
“But what’s the name o’ the piece?” she requested quietly.
“Why, I—I gave it a name—but suppose I call it simply: ‘A Song’?”
“Yes.”
“Sure! That’d be a nice title, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes.”
His emotions threatened to run over. He wanted to tell her the rest: that, as a matter of fact, she had been the one to inspire the composition—his inspiration—but, well, that would be going too far. She would be learning too much. But this was the happiest day of his life. He had made a long stride, even over the evening when, for a few confidential minutes, she had confided to him those details of her past relation with Allen. He must compose many compositions for her.