“Out,” was Tavia’s laconic answer.
“Really!” said Ned, with broad sarcasm.
Aunt Winnie smiled. “Don’t tell them your secret, Tavia; they only want to find out so that they can tease you about it.”
“Anyone who insists on hearing my secret,” said Tavia, striking a tragic pose, “does so at his peril!”
Ned decided that it was worth the risk, and rushed at Tavia to wrench the secret bare, but she eluded him skillfully, leaping directly over a couch. Ned was close at her heels, and out into the hall she ran, shutting the door after her, keeping Ned on the other side. In a moment it was opened. Desperate, Tavia sprang to the entrance into the main hall, and Ned followed so closely that they reached the divan in the hall at the same moment, Tavia sinking exhausted into its depths. She had won, because Ned could do nothing now except stand gallantly by—he could not smother Tavia in pillows in the public hall, and still maintain his dignity—so Tavia’s secret remained her own.
Dorothy appeared in the doorway.
“Such perfectly foolish young people!” she scolded. “Come inside this instant! It’s a good thing that father will arrive to-night, to balance this frivolous family!”
Tavia sat up astonished. “Major Dale coming to-night? I’m so glad. And Nat and Joe and Roger! Won’t that be fine for the skating party?”
Dorothy, too, sank into the comfortable divan.
“Father’s rheumatism is all well again, and they will arrive in time for dinner to-night,” she said. “The telegram came directly after breakfast.”