Tavia was silent, and her friend went on to say:
“You know he thinks the world of you, dear. If he didn’t he would not have been angered. And I do think—considering everything—that you ought not to continue to let that fellow out West write to you——”
Tavia turned on her with hard, flashing eyes. She held out the letter, saying in a voice quite different from her usual tone:
“I want you to read this letter—but only on condition that you say nothing to Nat White about it, not a word! Do you understand, Dorothy Dale?”
“No,” said Dorothy, wondering. “I do not understand.”
“You understand that I am binding you to secrecy, at least,” Tavia continued in the same tone.
“Why—yes—that,” admitted her friend.
“Very well, then, read it,” said Tavia and turned to look out of the window while Dorothy withdrew the closely written, penciled pages from the envelope and unfolded them.
In a moment Dorothy cried aloud:
“Oh, Tavia! you wrote him about Mr. Knapp!”