“Good-bye, dear, till to-night,” answered Ruth.
With that Dorothy and Jim made their departure for home. The way back was rather quiet, for the news that the girls were to start so soon had made Jim sad. And Dorothy couldn’t help but feel the same way. When at last they had silently reached the hotel and had gone up to the rooms, Dorothy spoke.
“Jim, do you want to stay here and be my audience while I practice and tell me what you think of my playing?”
“Yes, indeed I do,” answered Jim, gladly grasping the opportunity to be near the girl, and when he had seated himself in a great chair added, “I’ll be more than audience, I’ll be newspaper reporter and a very exacting and critical one at that. And then, when you finish I will tell you what I would put in the paper about you and your playing.”
“That’s a bargain,” answered Dorothy, taking her violin in hand. “I will start right now.”
So saying she commenced playing slowly at first, anon faster and faster, then again more slowly that beautiful composition, “A Medley of Southern Airs,” putting all her love and yearning for her own southern home into the effort. Jim from his chair by the window could picture each phase of the piece, and when she had finished with the beautiful sad strains of “Home, Sweet Home,” he could hardly control himself, and man that he was, he could not keep the tears from his eyes.
For a brief moment neither spoke. Dorothy laid down her violin and came over to him. Jim arose and took both her hands, saying softly, “Dorothy girl, it was wonderful, but it makes me so sad. I just can’t bear to think of parting from you.”
“Jim, dear, you too feel sad?” she questioned softly, but withdrawing her hands.
Jim let the little hands slowly drop but took her by the shoulders, looking eagerly into her eyes. “You will miss me?” he questioned, “really miss me?”