She turned inquiringly to Lawrence, and Mr. Ridgeway introduced him.
"I am glad you came," said Lady Gray cordially. "I have two boys about your age. You will be great friends, especially as they are both anxious to fly."
"No one that I can think of," said Mr. Ridgeway.
The two boys were nice chaps and asked a million questions which Lawrence was well able to answer. When he told them that he was going back to the United States probably the next day, they refused to consider it at all.
But now that all the danger was over, and the thrills of the journey, Lawrence felt himself once more drowned in loneliness. All the cheery affection and the atmosphere of home oppressed him to the very soul. Even if his own people were poor, no matter how humble they were, Lawrence wanted them with a longing that was almost agony. He _had_ to go back! He _had_ to know!
So he stood firm, although Mr. Ridgeway assured the boys that he was going to have a good talk with Lawrence when they went to bed, and he was willing to bet that he could coax him to stay.
It was early when they said good-night, and went up the wide stairs. Mr. Ridgeway was still suffering with his head and needed rest. As they prepared for the night, he said:
"Well, Lawrence, how do you like them all?"
"They are fine!" said Lawrence heartily. "I think Lady Gray is beautiful."
"Not as beautiful as Mrs. Ridgeway," replied that lady's husband. "You don't get her look in a picture. Her beauty is her changing expression and her color. The painting at home is magnificent, but it does not give you the right idea of her. When she is happy she looks like a girl. I have an awful crush on her, Lawrence." He laughed, and fumbled in his pocket. "This is the picture I like best," he said, taking out a pocket case. "It was taken years ago for my birthday, and she has never had another that pleased me so well. It is just like her." He pulled the reading lamp over and laid the open case down on the table under the strong light.
For a moment he saw the picture clearly, and then as he stared, it swam off in a sort of mist. He kept his eyes on it and it came back, and gazed gently, radiantly up at him. But he could not speak. He felt his knees giving, his heart hammering. It couldn't be true! Something was wrong! With fingers that fumbled and shook, he felt for his own case, found it, dropped it, recovered it, and at last managed to open it and place it beside the other.