"Think!" commanded Naomi. When she did this there was no disobeying her. He had found out that already.
"Have you ever heard of Rossetti—Dante Gabriel?"
"Kill whose cat?" cried Naomi.
He repeated the poet's name in full. She shook her head. She was smiling now, and kindly, for she had got her way.
"There is one little thing of his—but a beauty—that I once learnt," Engelhardt said, doubtfully. "Mind, I'm not sure that I can remember it, and I won't spoil it if I can't; no more must you spoil it, if I can."
"Is there some sacred association, then?"
He laughed. "No, indeed! There's more of a sacrilegious association, for I once swore that the first song I composed should be a setting for these words."
"Remember, you've got to dedicate it to me! What's the name of the thing?"
"'Three Shadows.'"
"Let's have them, then."