His hesitation had gone.

He found that for this occasion only he had the gift of tongues.
There was nothing new and original in what he said.

But, on the other hand, he said it over and over again, and the look upon his face and the tone of his voice were the things which mattered.

At the opera it is the singer you listen to, and not the words of the song.

So in this rose garden Violet Oliver listened to Dick Linforth rather than to what he said.