“What for?” asked Miette.
“Well, I cannot just exactly tell you,” stammered Dorothy, “but I knew if Aunt Winnie went to New York she would not mind calling on your aunt.”
“So,” said Miette, giving Dorothy a gentle hug (everything Miette did was gentle), “you had really decided to have me investigated?”
“I knew you needed some attention.”
“And I was so ashamed to have worked in a store,” reflected Miette aloud.
“That was because you were really a ‘somebody,’” answered Dorothy. “I do believe in inheritance. You see, you inherited a perfectly honorable pride. And do you realize you are very rich?”
“I know it, but I do not realize it,” said Miette. “Like the pride, I suppose I consider that my lawful right.”
Dorothy saw how different can be a foreign girl to one accustomed to our delightful American independence.
“Now, if Tavia ever fell into such luck,” said Dorothy, “I can scarcely imagine what would happen.”
“I hope Tavia will not think I have taken her place in your heart,” remarked Miette, at that moment snapping the spring on her suitcase. “I dearly love Tavia myself.”