Quincy felt that the time to which he had looked forward so long had come at last. He could restrain the promptings of his heart no longer. He loved this woman, and she must know it; even if she rejected that love, he must tell her.
"It is called 'The Bird of Love,'" he said. Then he played the prelude to the song. He sang as he had never sung before; all the power and pathos and love that in him lay were breathed forth in the words and music of that song.
With his voice lingering upon the last word, he turned and looked up at Alice. Upon her face there was a startled, almost frightened look.
"Shall I read the words to you, Miss Pettengill?" There was almost a command in the way he said it. His love had o'ermastered his politeness.
Alice said nothing, but bowed her head.
Then Quincy recited the words of the song. He had no need to read them, for he knew them by heart. It seemed to him that he had written the words himself. He did not even remember the author's name, and Alice stood with bowed head and closed eyes and drank in these words as they fell from his lips:
In this heart of mine the bird of love
Has built a nest,
Has built a nest.
And so she has in mine!
Response:
And so she has in mine!
And she toils both day and night, no thought
Of food or rest
Of food or rest,
And sings this song divine.
Response:
And sings this song divine.
Duet:
All the day long,
Such a sweet song,
Teaching love true,
I love! Do you?
When Quincy came to the last line, instead of reading it he turned to the piano and sang it with even more passion in his voice than at first.