In the room where the piano was, she sat down on the bench and smiled up at him. "Shall I sing now?"
Lennox put his hat on the sofa. "If you don't mind my talking to you."
"Very good, we will have a duo."
Over the keys her fingers moved, sketching a melody, passing from it into another.
Beside the bench Lennox had drawn the only chair. He looked about, then at her.
"I remember so well the first time I came here."
Her lips tightened, but, suppressing the smile, she turned to him and said and so patiently:
"Is it a song without words you want, or words without song?"
Lennox leaned toward her. It was then or, it might be, never.
"It is you I want."