The red-haired maid nodded and was gone. Rozenoffski went mechanically to his cabin, scarcely seeing the worshippers he plodded through; presently he became aware that he was changing his linen, brushing his best frock-coat, thrilling with pleasurable excitement.
Anon he was tapping at the well-known door. A voice—of another sweetness—cried 'Come!' and instantly he had the sensation that his touch on the handle had launched upon him, as by some elaborate electric contrivance, a tall and beautiful American, a rustling tea-gown, a shimmer of rings, a reek of patchouli, and a flood of compliment.
'So delightful of you to come—I know you men of genius are farouches—it was awfully insolent of me, I know, but you have forgiven me, haven't you?'
'The pleasure is mine, gracious lady,' he murmured in German.
'Ach, so you are a German,' she replied in the same tongue. 'I thought no American or Englishman could have so much divine fire. You see, mein Herr, I do not even know your name—only your genius. Every afternoon I have lain here, lapped in your music, but I might never have had the courage to thank you had you not played that marvellous thing just now—such delicious heartbreak, such adorable gaiety, and now and then the thunder of the gods! I'm afraid you'll think me very ignorant—it wasn't Grieg, was it?'
He looked uncomfortable. 'Nothing so good, I fear—a mere impromptu of my own.'
'Your own!' She clapped her jewelled hands in girlish delight. 'Oh, where can I get it?'
'East Side,' some mocking demon tried to reply; but he crushed her down, and replied uneasily: 'You can't get it. It just came to me this afternoon. It came—and it has gone.'
'What a pity!' But she was visibly impressed by this fecundity and riotous extravagance of genius. 'I do hope you will try to remember it.'
'Impossible—it was just a mood.'