“No,” answered Dorothy miserably enough. “I only wish I had.”
The actress with the cream jar turned around in time to see the tears coming into Dorothy’s eyes. Miss Riceman dropped the jar down on her improvised dresser and came over to where her visitor sat on the trunk.
“Tell me all about it,” she said kindly, sitting down beside Dorothy. “Perhaps I can help you. She is not your sister, is she?”
“No,” was the answer, and then began a confidence of which Dorothy had scarcely believed herself capable. She told how Tavia was as much to her as a sister could be, and how she feared her chum had taken to the stage on account of her peculiarities while at school. Then Dorothy described Tavia’s appearance—how pretty she was—what beautiful hair she had.
“And her eyes,” Dorothy almost cried, “I have never seen eyes like Tavia’s. They are as soft a brown as the inside of a chestnut burr.”
“Exactly!” chimed in Miss Riceman. “I would not be surprised but that I saw that very girl the other day. It was in the manager’s office. She came alone and she looked—well—I knew at once that she was a total stranger to the business. And when the manager asked how old she was (for they have to be particular about age you know) I think she said seventeen, but I knew she was not quite as old as that.”
Dorothy clasped her hands in a strained gesture. How she wanted to find Tavia, yet how she feared to discover her in this way!
“That might be her,” she faltered thoughtfully.
“If it was, she is with a company playing on the same circuit we do,” went on Miss Riceman. “Let me see,” and she consulted a slip of paper pinned to the wall. “Yes, they follow us in some towns. It was the ‘Lady Rossmore’s Secret’ company that the girl I am speaking about applied to, and I’m sure she was engaged, for I was interested in her appearance, and later I asked some one about her. Now the thing for you to do is to come to the manager’s office here to-morrow afternoon, between five and six. He has control of several companies, including the one I’m with and the L. R. S. as we call it for short, the ‘Lady Rossmore’s Secret’ I mean. Just ask him for your friend’s address—or, better still, just ask where the company is playing and she’ll be sure to be with it. He might not pay much attention to you if he thought you were looking for some one in particular and hadn’t any clue to her whereabouts.”
“I’ll do it,” said Dorothy determinedly, as she arose to go.