She pointed hastily to the score. He bent over and stared at the faded manuscript.
"Why, good God!" he cried, "it's my symphony."
She stopped, swung round and faced him with fear in her eyes.
"Yes. It's your symphony."
He took the thick manuscript from the rest and looked at the brown-paper cover. On it was written:
"The Song of Life. A Sonata by Angelo Fardetti. September, 1878."
There was an amazed silence. Then, in a queer accusing voice, Sonia cried out:
"Geoffrey, what have you done?"
"Heaven knows; but I've never known of this before. My God! Open the thing somewhere else and see."
So Sonia opened the manuscript at random and played, and again it was an echo of Geoffrey's symphony. He sank on a chair like a man crushed by an overwhelming fatality, and held his head in his hands.