"She was slight, like most American women."
"This young man is tall. Your father was a personable man; and he's big—much like my family. Dick, when I first saw him, my heart went out to him. I thought, 'Oh, my boy must be like you, tall and handsome!'"
"Would it not be better, dear lady, to make up your mind to forget the whole thing? Consider, it is so long ago."
"I would if I could. But I can't. No, Dick, I can never forget it."
"Force yourself to think about something else. It seems so desperately hopeless."
She shook her head. "When you play, my thoughts go out after him, whether I will or not. I am sitting with my son somewhere, or walking with him, or talking with him. I dream of him at night. Perhaps he is dead—because I dream of him so much. But I cannot think of him as dead. Oh, Dick, if you could find my son for me!"
"My dear lady, I will do what I can."
"You must think," said Molly, "morning, noon, and night, about nothing else. Consult your violin; you may whisper it into the piano-case."
"Yes, yes—meantime. It's no use going to see the doctor. He says he doesn't know. But if he called upon the woman at her hotel, he must have inquired for her by name."