“I think, Mr. Colman, I have seen something of yours! You do put your name to what you write?” said Lady Lufa.
“Not always,” replied Walter.
“I think the song must have been yours!”
Walter had, just then, for the first time published a thing of his own. That it should have arrested the eye of this lovely creature! He acknowledged that he had printed a trifle in “The Observatory.”
“I was charmed with it!” said the girl, the word charmingly drawled.
“The merest trifle!” remarked Walter. “It cost me nothing.”
He meant what he said, unwilling to be judged by such a slight thing.
“That is the beauty of it!” she answered. “Your song left your soul as the thrush’s leaves his throat. Should we prize the thrush’s more if we came upon him practicing it?”
Walter laughed.
“But we are not meant to sing like the birds!”