At the end, Banneker said dreamily:
"I've never heard anything like that before. It says everything that
can't be said in words alone, doesn't it? It makes me think of
something--What is it?" He groped for a moment, then repeated:
"'A passionate ballad, gallant and gay, Singing afar in the springtime
of life, Singing of youth and of love And of honor that cannot die.'"
Io drew a deep, tremulous breath. "Yes; it's like that. What a voice!
And what an art to be buried out here! It's one of her own songs, I
think. Probably an unpublished one."
"Her own? Does she write music?"
"She is Royce Melvin, the composer. Does that mean anything to you?"
He shook his head.
"Some day it will. They say that he--every one thinks it's a he--will
take Massenet's place as a lyrical composer. I found her out by
accidentally coming on the manuscript of a Melvin song that I knew.
That's her secret that I spoke of. Do you mind my having told you?"
"Why, no. It'll never go any further. I wonder why she never told me.
And why she keeps so shut off from the world here."
"Ah; that's another secret, and one that I shan't tell you," returned Io
gravely. "There's the piano again."
A few indeterminate chords came to their ears. There followed a jangling
disharmony.
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