“It is what you told me of at Lucerne that night on the steamer?” she asked, with no question in her voice.
He moved his head slowly in assent to her certainty. The cascading song was already running its silvery course again; he leaned far towards her.
“Have you comprehend, do you think?” he asked.
She nodded. And then she too leaned her chin on her hand, and looked to the lake to guard her eyes, while the music invaded and took complete possession of her senses.
“Do you play that on your violin?” she asked, when all was over.
“There is no music that I may not play,” he replied, “unless I have never see it, or hear it, or divine it for myself.”
“Do you play the piano also?”
“Only what I must. Sometimes I must, you know. Then I say to my hands, ‘You shall go here, you shall go there!’ and they go, but very badly.”
She looked straight at him with a curious dawning in her eyes.
“I wonder, shall we ever make any music together?” she murmured.