"Well, yes, I know so much. But what is it called?"
"Oh—er—I don't quite know—"
"Who composed it? It was lovely!"
"Glad you liked it. I say, hadn't you better rescue your cakes?"
"Edward Lancaster, who composed that waltz?"
"Er—oh, I didn't see the composer's name—"
"It doesn't by any chance begin with an E and an L? Oh," she laughed out at his fiery face, "how funny you are! What is there to be ashamed of? You should be proud—proud! Are all the English like that? Shake hands, Ted! It's lovely!"
"No—it's nothing!" But he looked delighted all the same. "You see, I got this part," sitting down and softly playing the sad little refrain, "I got that at home this morning;"—he had forgotten his shyness in his interest,—"but I couldn't get a setting for it, and then suddenly down in the kitchen just now, amongst the cakes, I got it!"
"I'm glad it was the happy part that came to you while you were with me!" she laughed, and fled down to her cakes.
At tea that afternoon she nodded at Ted. "You're to take that burnt one, please!" she said mischievously.