“You silly!” exclaimed Tavia, throwing her arms around Dorothy this time. “Who said I had a secret? What in the world has put that wild notion into your yellow head?—bless it!”
This last expression brought a kiss to the golden ringlets, and, as the two girls sat there, Dorothy with a far-away look in her eyes that were clouded with unbidden tears, Tavia with her cheek pressed lovingly against the blond head, and her own eyes looking into some unknown future, their pose was like a stage picture—the kind usually presented when one sister is about to leave a country home, and the other bids her stay.
“Aren’t we a couple of jays!” broke in Tavia, as soon as she appeared to realize the melo-dramatic effect. “I declare we ought to travel as ‘The Glum Sisters—Mag and Liz.’ There! Wouldn’t we make a hit for teary ones? Weeps are in great demand they say. Smiles are being overworked in the profresh!” and she strode up to the mirror with a most self-satisfied glance at her pretty face.
“Tavia, you are getting awfully big for slang—it seems more like sneering than joking,” exclaimed Dorothy. “And I’ve been wanting to say that to you—some of the other girls have noticed it. They say you act more like a chorus girl than a Glenwood pupil. Of course I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I thought it would be better for me to tell you than for you to hear it from some one else.”
“Chorus girl! Thanks! No need to apologize, I assure you. That’s from silly, little Nita Brandt, I suppose? Well, better to act like a chorus girl than—a fool!” blurted out Tavia with a show of temper. “And any silly girl, who can not keep things to herself—well, I always thought Nita was a featherhead and now I know it!”
“Oh, indeed it was not Nita!” Dorothy hastened to assure her. “It was at the lawn tea the other day. You were ‘acting’; don’t you remember? Doing that funny toe dance you are always trying lately.”
“O-o-o-o-h!” and Tavia made a queer little pout, and a very funny face. “So they appreciated my maiden effort, eh? I am indeed flattered! Tell the girls I’m much obliged and I’ll see that they get passes for the initial performance. Tell them, also, to have the bouquets tagged—it’s so annoying to have a great stack of ‘Please accepts’ to answer, with the superscriptions ‘cut out’ so to speak. I know all the girls will send pansies—they are so sweet, and would make such wicked faces for the girls who could not conveniently present their own adorable ‘phizes’!”
“What in the world are you talking about?” asked Dorothy, who had been listening to the outburst with a queer idea that all this stage business was not mere idle chatter—that there might be a reason for Tavia’s cynicism.
“Talking about auto rides,” quietly answered Tavia, recovering herself with an effort. “Wasn’t that a dandy this afternoon? And to think we might have missed that ‘Horatius at the bridge’ business if I had been silly enough to mention that the planking was gone!”
“Don’t talk of it!” exclaimed Dorothy, shuddering. “I cannot bear to think of what might have happened. And, Tavia, you must not think I have adopted the lecture platform for good, but I must say, it was careless of you not to mention about the bridge—especially as you knew what a hill led down to it, and how the Fire Bird can cover hills.”