He eyed her admiringly. "I do like that! I thought girls were always feeling tired and faint." "Oh, Ted, how old-fashioned you are!" "You see, I haven’t known many girls." "Your experience must have been very unfortunate," she said, and then she thought of his cousins, and blushed. He smiled; he was thinking of them, too. "You see these tricky little channels through these long cakes? Well, they’re going to be filled with a little jam, and a great roll of thick cream!" "Five hours to tea-time!" he sighed. 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. "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. "Honoured," he declared, and they both laughed. They had an evening of music, singing, and dancing down in Herr Schmidt’s room. They moved his table and chairs close to the walls, and danced to their hearts’ content.