His scent was like sweet perfume in her state, like the sweet smell of infants. Impressionable, lonely, a deal beyond his analytical reach, the girl might let her sympathies go beyond those of the nurse. She was practicing with them on that very day, and displaced a rather mediocre boy violinist who claimed “to be better at the viola anyway” as first chair. "But I like Bobby Burns best. You can’t! I tell you frankly you may break off your engagement to me—I shall hold myself still engaged to you, yours just the same. Her name, he said, was as pretty as its wearer.
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