“Well, anyway,” snapped Tavia, suddenly showing her claws—and who does not once in a while?—“he’s gone out for a long walk and he expects to finish his business to-morrow and go home.”
“Oh!” gasped Dorothy.
She sat on the edge of her bed with her first stocking in her hand. Tavia had gone back into her own room. Had she been present she must have noticed all the delight fading out of Dorothy Dale’s countenance. Finally, the latter tossed away the stocking, and crept back into bed.
“I—I guess I’m too lazy to dress after all, dear,” she said, in a still little voice. “And you are tired, too, Tavia. The telephone has been fixed; just call down, will you, and ask them to send me up some tea and toast?”
CHAPTER IX
THEY SEE GARRY’S BACK
The following day Dorothy was her old cheerful self—or so Tavia thought. They did not shop with such abandon, but took matters more easily. And they returned to the hotel for luncheon and for rest.
“But he isn’t here!” Tavia exclaimed, when they entered the big restaurant for the midday meal. “And I remember now he said last evening that he would probably be down town almost all day to-day—trying to sell that property of his, you know.”
“Who, dear?” asked Dorothy, with a far-away look on her face.
“Peleg Swift!” snapped Tavia. “You know very well of whom I am talking. Garry Owen!” and she hummed a few bars of the old, old march.
Garry certainly was not present; but Dorothy still smiled. They went out again and purchased a few more things. When they returned late in the afternoon the young Westerner was visible in the lobby the moment the girls came through the doorway.