"Oh!" exclaimed Dorothy, too enraptured to say more.
"And with your yellow head you will look like an angel."
"Now, see here, Miss Sunset and Sunrise, I don't mind being cloudy or even starry, nor yet heavenly, but don't you dare go one latitude or longitude further. I am mortally afraid Aunt Winnie has elected to wear amethyst this very evening, and when the combination gets together I expect something will happen—something like Mt. Pelee, you know."
"We might call it our elementary evening," went on Tavia, "and then look out for storms. You said the boys were coming?"
"Coming!" and Dorothy sprang to the door. "They are here now. Listen to
that shout? That's Ned. Oh, I must run down. Come along," and before
Tavia had a chance to "collect her manners" she was bowing after
Dorothy's profuse introduction.
"I've heard of Miss Travers," said Edward pleasantly, while Nat was "weighing" Dorothy with one hand, and attempting to shake the other in Tavia's direction.
"You must call her Tavia," insisted Dorothy, getting away from Ned, "or if you prefer you may call her Octavia—she has a birthday within the octave of Christmas."
"Should have been called Yule, for yule-tide," said Nat. "Not too late yet, is it Tavia?"
Mrs. White was smiling at the good times "her children" had already made for themselves. She now insisted upon calling Dorothy daughter and she was so kind to Tavia that she made no distinction but said "daughters" in addressing both.
"Just see, boys," said their mother, unpinning Tavia's now famous half head of hair, "that is all there is left."