“We are as surprised as you,” exclaimed Dorothy, “and so glad to have been able to be of assistance!”
“We’ll hang the saucepan in the main hall at Glenwood in honor of the bargain rush,” said Tavia, waving the parcel above her head.
“Girls, I’m still picking feathers out of my hair!” said Miss Mingle, laughing gaily.
“Don’t you love New York?” burst from Tavia’s lips. “I’m dreading the very thought of returning to Glenwood and school again!”
But Miss Mingle sighed. “I’m counting the days until my return to Glenwood, my dears. But, you don’t want to hear anything about that, you’re young and happy, and without care. Come and see us—I’m with my sister, and I would just love to have you.” At mention of her sister, Miss Mingle’s lips involuntarily quivered and she partly turned away. “Do come, girls, this is my address. I’m glad you’re enjoying New York; I wish I could say as much.”
As she said good-bye, Dorothy noticed how much more than ever the thin, haggard face was drawn and lined with anxiety, and the timid dread in her eyes enhanced by the bright red spots that burned in the hollows of her cheeks.
“We must call,” said Dorothy, when Miss Mingle had disappeared. “There is some secret burden wearing that little woman to a shred.”
“Her eyes have the look of a haunted creature,” said Tavia, seriously. “We can’t call to-morrow; we have the matinee, you know.”
“Yes, that’s always the way, one must do the pleasant things, and let misery and sorrow take care of themselves,” sighed Dorothy. “Well, we can the following day.”