Dorothy looked after her friend as she skipped down the path, and a sense of dread, of strange misgivings, took possession of her. What if Tavia should actually run away as she had often threatened in jest! Then Dorothy remembered how well Tavia danced, how she had practiced the "stage fall" after seeing the play in Rochester, and how little Johnnie Travers had barely escaped the falling ceiling that came down with Tavia's attempt at tragedy. Then, too, Dorothy thought of the day Tavia had painted her cheeks with mullin leaves and how Dorothy then remarked in alarm: "Tavia, you look like an actress!"
How strangely bright Tavia's eyes seemed that day! How wonderfully pretty her short bronze locks fell against her unnaturally red cheeks! All this now flashed through Dorothy's dazed brain.
How could she leave Tavia? And yet she would so soon have to go away—to that far-off school—
And that strange girl who had come with Alice. What could she have meant by those horrid insinuations about Dorothy so "suddenly making up her mind" to go to boarding school; and that it would be "too bad to leave Tavia alone in Dalton just then!" as if everyone did not know by this time just what had happened on the auto ride, and that Ned had actually been offered the reward for the capture of Anderson. Not only this but her two cousins, Ned and Nat, had received public praise for brave conduct, and the two girls, whose names were not mentioned (Major Dale had asked the reporter to omit them if possible from the report), were also spoken of as having taken part in the capture, inasmuch as they allowed Anderson to remain quietly in the car until the young owners of the machine arrived upon the scene.
Dorothy sat there thinking it all over. It was almost dusk and on the little vine-clad porch the shadows of the honey-suckle shifted idly from Dorothy's chair to the block of sunshine that was trying so bravely to keep the lonely girl company—every other ray of sunlight had vanished, but that gleam seemed to stay with Dorothy. She did not fail to observe this, as she always noticed every kindness shown her, and she considered the "ray of light" as being very significant in the present rather gloomy situation.
"But I must not mope," Dorothy told herself presently. "I simply must talk the whole thing over with Aunt Winnie."
How much better for Tavia it would have been had she too determined to "talk the whole thing over" with someone of experience?
Dorothy found her aunt busy writing the boarding school letters, and when that task had been finished Mrs. White was entirely at the girl's service. Dorothy tried to unfold to her the situation, without putting unnecessary blame on Tavia, who was such a jolly girl and so absolutely free from dread—never had been known to be afraid of anything, Dorothy declared, and of course there was therefore, all the more reason to be worried about her risks. To Tavia, a risk was synonymous with sport.
"I had no idea she would be interested in that sort of thing," said Mrs. White, referring to the matter of going on the stage, "and, perhaps, Dorothy—"
"But I am not at all sure that she is interested in it, auntie," Dorothy interrupted. "I am only afraid she may get more letters from that girl— And besides, I will be so lonely without her, and I know she will miss me."