"Whatever will momsey say?" thought Tavia aloud.
"That you would have made a very good-looking boy," replied Dorothy. "I am sure I never saw a girl to whom short hair was so becoming."
"It must look well with a five hundred-dollar note for a background. I tell you, Doro, money covers a multitude of crimes. I wonder if little Lily of the fire room has cooled off yet."
"But you haven't seen the new clothes auntie had brought us—yes us, for she has not forgotten you. You are well able to pay bills now, you know," and Dorothy gave a mischievous little tug at Tavia's elbow. "But wait, wait till you see what you are to wear this very evening. The box has just come up, and I will open it."
Whereupon Dorothy pulled in from the hall door a great purple box labeled "robes." Tavia was on her knees beside it before Dorothy had a chance to untie the strings. What girl does not like to see brand, new, pretty dresses come out of their original box?
Layers of tissue paper were first unwrapped, then a glow of brilliant red shown through the last covering.
"Whew!" exclaimed Tavia, "a rainbow gown, I'll bet. Then she gave her usual text, as Dorothy called her spontaneous rhymes:
"Breathes there a girl with soul so dead,
Who never to herself has said,
I love to wear a dress bright red!"
"And I love red better than butter, and I love butter better than ice cream—so there! Dorothy Dale, that dress on top I claim."
The "bright red" was in full view now, and it was really a beautiful gown. Not extravagantly so, but as Dorothy said "exquisitely so."