“Yes,” said Dorothy breathlessly.
“Well,” said Tavia relaxing, “that’s her suit-case.”
“Who is she?” asked Dorothy, “and why bring her bag here?”
“She’s a society girl,” replied Tavia, peering out between the palm leaves, “and she arrived at four o’clock this afternoon with a maid and a suit-case.”
“Auntie said nothing about week-end guests,” said Dorothy.
“Of course she didn’t, and this isn’t a week-end guest, this is a society girl! She couldn’t play cards at four, and have dinner at seven, and a dance at eight-thirty, without a suit-case and a maid; could she? How unreasonable you are, Dorothy,” exclaimed Tavia, with scorn.
“Did she wear something different for each occasion?” whispered Dorothy.
“Yes,” replied Tavia. “Dorothy, doesn’t it make you dizzy to think of keeping up an appearance in that way—packing one’s suit-case every morning to attend an evening function!”
“And she doesn’t seem to be having an awfully good time either,” commented Dorothy.
“Everyone is afraid of her—she’s too wonderful!” laughed Tavia.