"Oh, no! But some people—many, I think—would say a talent is meant to be used, to be given to the light."
"I know. But I don't think the modern world wants mine. I"—he reddened—"I always set words from the Bible nearly or from the Prayer-Book."
Smiling a little, as if saving something by humor, he added:
"Not the Song of Solomon."
"But don't the English—"
He stopped her.
"Good heavens! I know you are thinking of the Handel Festival and Elijah in the provinces!" he exclaimed. "I know you are!"
She laughed.
"I should like to play you one or two of my things," he said impulsively. "Then you'll see at once."
He went toward the piano. She sat still. She was with the striking unreserve of the reserved man when he has cast his protector or his demon away. With his back to her Heath turned over some music, moved a pile of sheets, set them down on the floor under the piano, searched.