"Once, long ago, I had a dream. I lost it. To-day I thought that I had found it. But do you know what I did really find?"
"No, godfather," replied Sonia, stooping, with housewifely tidiness, to pick up the litter.
"That I am a poor old fool," said he.
Sonia threw the paper into the grate and again came up behind him.
"It is better to have lost a dream than never to have had one at all. What was your dream?"
"I thought I could write the Song of Life as I heard it—as I hear it still." He smote his forehead lightly. "But no! God has not considered me worthy to sing it. I bow my head to His—to His"—he sought for the word with thin fingers—"to His decree."
She said, with the indulgent wisdom of youth speaking to age:
"He has given you the power to love and to win love."
The old man swung round on the music-stool and put his arm round her waist and smiled into her young face.
"Geoffrey is a very fortunate fellow."