The two girls remained quiet until the clatter of hoofs had died away in the distance, Dorothy, trying to fight the bitter disappointment that burned within her, Tavia staring thoughtfully after the cavalcade.
The latter finally looked at Dorothy, a quizzical and sympathetic smile playing about the corners of her mouth.
“Come on, Doro, don’t take it so much to heart,” she urged, adding judicially: “Of course you know Garry is right—really—although it isn’t very pleasant to be told that you will be in the way.”
“I shouldn’t be in the way. He doesn’t know me yet,” said Dorothy, in a stifled voice. “And I wanted to go with him, to look for Joe.”
“Of course you did, you poor dear,” said Tavia sympathetically. Then she added, as a daring gleam crept into her pretty eyes: “And I don’t know that Garry ought to have everything to say about it, at that!”
Dorothy turned quickly toward her. A hot flush rose to her face.
“What do you mean?” she demanded.
“Oh, Doro, you know well enough what I mean. Why pretend you don’t?” By this time Tavia’s eyes were frankly dancing. “Since when, I ask you, have we come to the point where we may be ordered about by any man?”
“You mean,” cried Dorothy breathlessly, “that you suggest that we organize a search party of two?”
“Who said I was suggesting anything?” protested Tavia impishly. “I can’t open my mouth but what my words are misconstrued.”