She saw no one. She did, however, observe a door near the landing where Dorothy was seated standing ajar. From inside she could hear faint sounds of music, so some one must be at home.
Tory was accustomed to acting upon impulse. She did not mention to her companion what she intended doing. She walked over and knocked on this door. No one replied. At the same instant the notes of music grew louder so that the musician could scarcely have heard.
Tory pushed the door open.
She then looked inside the room, planning to explain her behavior as soon as she could attract any one’s attention.
She beheld a figure seated at a piano, with hands upon the keys and apparently oblivious of the world.
“Lance McClain, it cannot be you!” the girl exclaimed.
There was still no answer. Dorothy McClain heard and managed to get up and come toward the door which Tory had now opened widely.
Both girls recognized Lance, although his back was turned toward them.
He looked thinner. A sheet of music was on the rack before him and his head was upturned. Neither girl wished to disturb him at present, not until he had finished what he was playing. They did not move or speak again.
Dorothy was not familiar with the music; she only realized that it was more beautiful and more ambitious than anything Lance had ever attempted to play at home.