“Trixy is a dear,” she concluded as she sat back in the cushions.
“Gloria is a love,” said Trixy as she raced her little poodle back to the house.
“If Trixy doesn’t get too fashionable,” went on Gloria’s ruminating. “She’s so pretty and so very stylish.”
“If Gloria doesn’t go to being clever,” worried Trixy. “She’s apt to go off, grow pale, and write a book. Wouldn’t that be dreadful? Full of Tommy’s and Marty’s! Now, if I ever wrote a book I’d have a hero like Sherry. Poor Sherry!” Her eyes blinked and Bumble barked impatiently.
Of the day full of happenings, Gloria’s long talk with her Uncle Charley stood out beyond the sunshine and above the shadows.
Aunt Harriet was so much better, relieved, her husband called it.
“And I’m going to get her away from this—it has mostly been my fault,” admitted the big man as big men always do.
“Dr. Daly said all she needed was a change,” agreed Gloria gladly. “It would be lovely for her to get away from Sandford.”
“I’ll get my cousin to come over for a week or ten days—”
“Why?”