Dorothy sank down on a divan piled with sofa cushions, Lance and Tory sitting down beside her.
“You don’t think these are my quarters, do you, Dot? That would be too good to be true.”
“Then if this is _not_ your room, tell us everything from the hour you left home. What are you doing here and whose piano were you playing? I don’t believe you have had a real meal since you ran away.”
“Don’t call it running away, please, Dot? Say I had to answer a desire that was too strong to be resisted.
“I am afraid you and Tory will be disappointed at what I have to tell you. I wrote to several places in New York and had secured a position here before I lit out from home. It does not pay much and I knew father would never believe I could live on so small a sum. I understood he could not afford to give me anything outside and I have managed to live, somehow!” Lance murmured under his breath. “I am busy at odd hours and sometimes I have an afternoon free. This chanced to be one of them.”
“I have not yet told you of my good luck, and I have had more than I deserve. You might as well know the truth. I am nothing but a messenger boy. One afternoon I came here to this room and heard some one playing on the piano, some one who really understood music. There wasn’t any doubt of that blessed fact.
“I suppose I stood entranced, listening. Anyhow the musician seemed to guess how much I cared. We began talking and I was pretty homesick and wretched and must have poured out everything I was feeling at the time. The result was we became friends. I suppose I have the right to say friends. He gave me permission to come here and play on his piano when I had an opportunity. I have a key to the door and can come and go when I like. Something bigger and more wonderful, I am studying music with him two evenings a week. He gives me a lesson for as long a time as he can spare.”
There was a new tone in Lance’s voice, a boyish admiration the two girls had never known him to feel for any one before.
Tory recalled a phrase from “The Idylls of the King”: “By all the sweet and sudden passion of youth, Toward greatness in its elder.”
“What is your friend’s name, Lance?” Dorothy asked with added gentleness.
Lance had found not all, but a part of what he sought!