Merry and bright they were at their respective luncheon tables, for the unwritten law required that their parents must not know of the tragedy that had befallen.
So, when Mrs. Fayre informed Dolly that her company was desired for a ride that afternoon, the consent was prompt and willing. And when Mrs. Rose asked Dotty to stay with Genie while she went out on some errands, there was no objection raised.
But there were two sore and sorry hearts in the neighbouring houses, and two brains pondered over the question of what was best to do.
Dolly was unwilling to give up her pet plan of helping Bernice. She couldn’t explain entirely to her own satisfaction, just why she was so interested in this project, but she knew she had no unworthy motive. It was not,—of that she was sure,—because Bernie was rich and lived in the grandest house in Berwick. It was not because she wanted her for her own particular friend. But it seemed too bad that a nice girl like that should be out of everything for lack of a guiding hand. And, it must be admitted, Dolly liked to play the part of guiding hand.
Dotty, for her part, was mad because Dolly had gone off and asked the girls to invite Bernice to their party, after she had practically agreed not to. This was Dolly’s sole argument. The fact of her own jealousy of Dolly’s interest in Bernice she ignored, for the present, at least.
So the two foolish ones spent much of the golden Autumn afternoon ruffling the feathers of their souls, and persistently keeping them ruffled.
That evening, as the Fayres sat at dinner, the telephone rang, and Mrs. Fayre was asked for.
After a time she returned to the table.
“Here’s a state of things,” she said, smiling, yet looking serious too. “It was Mrs. Rose telephoning. Genie has the measles, or rather, they think she has, and so Mrs. Rose asks if we’ll let Dotty come here to stay till they’re over.”