“So late! I must get to sleep,” determined Gloria, “for tomorrow will surely be another busy day.” But panic and slumber never agree, and the night in the beautiful room was quite a failure after all.
No amount of coaxing nor offers to bring out her best clothes would induce Gloria to remain with Trixy over Sunday.
“I just can’t,” she sighed. “I hardly understood things last night, and Uncle Charley will be home today. I have to talk to him.”
“Will Hazel come home?” asked Trixy, raising her handsome brows quizzically.
“I hope not,” confessed Gloria. “I would not be able to—to do things if she were looking on.”
“Don’t you like her, Glo?”
“I hardly know her, really. I don’t dislike her, but somehow I feel dreadfully self conscious when she’s around.”
“Now, I like Hazel,” defended Trixy. “She’s got character and a lot of temperament, but still she’s a good sport.”
“What does that mean, just?” asked Gloria. They were out on the drive waiting for the car that was to take Gloria back to Maple Street. Trixy looked charming in her brilliant yellow sweater and her striped black and yellow skirt. Gloria wore her Kelly green sweater, the one she made during vacation, and its depths of true green brought out the glitter of her dark eyes quite “Irishy,” as Trixy said it.
A toot from the garage warned both of the time limit set upon their discussion.