Lost Lake House Read Free

music never quite stopped
humming in Dorothy’s brain, the more when she had been away from it
long. It was humming strongly and intoxicatingly at this moment.
Dorothy moved her toes half unconsciously, then tucked her feet
under her stool.
    But even all this might not have tempted her
had not the sting of her recent scolding still been fresh upon
her—with a little surge of resentment she said to herself that it
really wasn’t fair. All she wanted was to have a good time. Wasn’t
it unreasonable and unfeeling of her father to deny her that? He
just didn’t understand .
    Dorothy’s pride was flicked and her
conscience was sulking. The four walls of her little white room
seemed close and cramping, and her toes beneath the ruffled stool
were itching to dance. She got up and went to the window again, and
leaned her folded arms on the sill. It was early evening, and even
on this quiet street there was life and activity below. A couple
was strolling arm-in-arm along the sidewalk across the way; a man
walking quickly on this side with a parcel under his arm; a boy
went by on a bicycle. From the blocks downtown Dorothy could hear
the distant noise of automobiles and omnibuses and horns, the
quick-paced life of the city. Everyone but her seemed to be alive
and busy and going somewhere—Life itself seemed to be passing her
by. At sixteen the world seems to be spinning fast and time
slipping away, and our hearts burst with the conviction that if we
cannot have our dreams right now they will be somehow
imperfect when they finally come true.
    She fell back upon the letter of the law.
Her father had never actually pronounced the words “You must not
dance”; he’d only said “You must not go to parties where there is
dancing”—he hadn’t said anything about nightclubs —
    A breeze blew in through the open window,
brushing the light curtains gently against her bare arms. It seemed
to carry the spirit of gypsy adventure on its wings—and behind her
Kitty Lawrence shifted a slender lank shoulder and yawned as if she
found sneaking out to nightclubs something utterly trifling.
    Dorothy set her mother’s dainty dimpled chin
in an expression that belonged to her father. “All right,” she
said, “I’ll be there.”
     

     
    The ferry ground ashore at the bottom of the
path with a little bump, and Dorothy, no longer able to hold her
fancies to herself, hopped ashore and was swept up the lighted path
amid the noisy laughing crowd of her friends. At the doors
white-coated waiters appeared like conjurors to whisk away hats and
coats, and then the guests went forward through the main hall. The
floor and walls were of golden-brown marble polished till it was
like walking on glass; the staircases were rimmed with curling,
spidery metal railings, and matching brackets on the walls
supported lamps that were like an artist’s idea of tulips done in
frosted glass. They went through into the largest ballroom, where
the band in ice-blue jackets were half hidden in potted ferns at
the far end—the arched doorways all around the room gave on outer
passages where more French windows opened onto a variety of gardens
and terraces, lit by more strings of electric lights laced through
the trees. There were shimmering teal-green velvet draperies in the
arches, and fat, opulent-looking sofas upholstered to match sat
under gold-framed mirrors on the walls.
    As Dorothy’s group passed into the ballroom
another shrill cascade of laughter met them, and Dorothy wrinkled
up her nose a little. She wished people wouldn’t interfere with the
music so much. She looked around expectantly, anxious to enter at
once on the business of the evening—and did not have to wait long;
a boy asked her to dance and she accepted with alacrity.
    She leaned on his arm, humming along to the
music a little. A phonograph record playing, music on the
radio—even sitting and listening to a band playing never seemed
like enough to Dorothy—she had to move with the