“I’ve such a headache!”
“Poor dear!” cried Tavia. “I should think you had. You ate scarcely any luncheon——”
“Oh, don’t mention eating!” begged Dorothy, and she really found she did have a slight headache now that she had said so.
“Don’t you want your dinner?” cried Tavia, in horror.
“No, dear. Just let me lie here. You—you go down and eat. Perhaps I’ll have something light by and by.”
“That’s what the Esquimau said when he ate the candle,” said Tavia, but without smiling. It was a habit with Tavia, this saying something funny when she was thinking of something entirely foreign to her remark.
“You’re not going to be sick, are you, Doro?” she finally asked.
“No, indeed, my dear.”
“Well! you’ve acted funny all day.”
“I don’t feel a bit funny,” groaned Dorothy. “Don’t make me talk—now.”