'Who are they?'

'Grusczinsky and Buchterkirch.'

'Heavens, then what are you worrying about? The thing's a cert. A man
with a name like Grusczinsky could sell a dozen editions by himself.
Helped and inspired by Buchterkirch, he will make the waltz the talk of
the country. Infants will croon it in their cots.'

'He didn't seem to think so when I saw him last.'

'Of course not. He doesn't know his own power. Grusczinsky's shrinking
diffidence is a by-word in musical circles. He is the genuine Human
Violet. You must give him time.'

'I'll give him anything if he'll only sell an edition or two,' said
Annette.

The outstanding thing was that he did. There seemed no particular
reason why the sale of that waltz should not have been as small and as
slow as that of any other waltz by an unknown composer. But almost
without warning it expanded from a trickle into a flood. Grusczinsky,
beaming paternally whenever Annette entered the shop--which was
often--announced two new editions in a week. Beverley, his artistic
growth still under a watchful eye of Sellers, said he had never had
any doubts as to the success of the thing from the moment when a single
phrase in it had so carried him away that he had been compelled to stamp
his applause enthusiastically on the floor. Even Sellers forgot his own
triumphs long enough to allow him to offer affable congratulations. And
money came rolling in, smoothing the path of life.