Down the stairs floated a wail of woe.
"I've upset the ink!"
"That's Molly. Do go and help her, Ted!"
To Nell presently there came the sound of Herr Schmidt's piano. She propped the kitchen door open, and prepared to listen while she worked. Hitherto she had only heard Ted play dances and jigs for them, but now it was different. It drew her slowly from the kitchen up the stairs to Herr Schmidt's room. She stood by the door and listened. He did not see her. His legs were twisted contortedly round the old-fashioned piano-stool; he was wrapt in his music. He was playing a waltz—soft, dreamy, with a beautiful, pathetic refrain that made Nell's breath catch in her throat.
When the last note had died away she went softly in. He glanced at her with a far-away look in his deep-set eyes then he flushed, and stood up, frowning.
"It was beautiful," she said softly.
"Er—glad you liked it. Piano's a good one. Finished the cakes, Nell?"
She shook her head.
"They're all burning and spoiling, I expect, but that waltz just drew my feet up here! What is it, Ted?"
"Oh—that? Just a little waltz, you know," digging his hands into his coat pockets.