He could not withdraw his own glance. He did not wish to. He longed to be able to answer what she wished.
"A little, perhaps," he said doubtfully. "Not so much as I would like to. Will you help me?"
"He will help you. You will find Him if you search for Him with all your heart," she said earnestly. "It says so in His book."
Then came more music, wistful, searching, tender. Did it speak of the things of heaven to other souls there than those two?
He stooped down, and said in a low tone that somehow seemed to blend with the music like the words that fitted it,
"I will try with all my heart if you will help me."
She smiled her answer, brimming back with deep delight.
Into the final lingering notes of an andante from one of Beethoven's sublime symphonies clashed the loud voice of Lizzie:
"O Bess! Bess! B-es-see! I say, Bessie! Ma says we'll have to go over by the cars now if we want to get a seat. The concert's most out, and there'll be a fierce rush. Come on! And grandma says, bring your friend along with you if you want." This last with a smirking recognition of the man, who had turned around wonderingly to see who was speaking.
With a quick, searching glance that took in bedraggled organdie, rose hat, and pink parasol, and set them aside for what they were worth, George Benedict observed and classified Lizzie.