“Well, well,” said Mr. Fayre, “that’s too bad for poor little Genie. But I rather think I can guess the names of Two D’s who won’t be sorry about the projected visit. Eh, Dollykins?”
Dolly was stricken dumb. Dotty coming for a week, maybe more,—how long did measles last, anyway? Was it a month? Could they go without speaking all that time?
“How—how long will she be here, Mother?” at last a small, scared voice said.
“A couple of weeks, I daresay. Why,—aren’t you glad? I thought you’d be overjoyed. Not at Genie’s illness, but at Dotty’s coming.”
“Did—did you tell her she could come, Mother?”
“Surely, child. Won’t you have the good times, though!”
“She can have the pink guest room,” said Trudy, kindly. “That’s almost next to Doll’s room, and they can chum all they like. Hasn’t Dotty been exposed, Mother?”
“Yes, but she has had measles, so she’s immune. But she can’t go to school if she remains in the house where the illness is. So she’s to come here.”
“When?” asked Dolly, in a queer, far-away voice.
“Now; right away,” replied her mother. “We’ll put aside that best lace bed-set, Trudy, and give her a plainer one.”