“Why, Miss Olaine, no invitation could have given me so much pleasure to-day—and I am sure Tavia feels the same.”
“I—I am afraid I did not understand you girls very well when first I came here to Glenwood,” said Miss Olaine, gravely.
“Oh, dear Miss Olaine! we did not understand you either!” cried Dorothy.
“And I was real mean to you,” said Tavia, brokenly. “But now——”
The impulsive girl threw her arms about Miss Olaine’s neck and whispered in her ear: “We’re so, so happy about you and Tom Moran! For you’ll love Celia, too, and you all will have such a fine time together!”
Miss Olaine blushed more deeply at that, and looked very much confused. “You—you’ll really come, girls?” she repeated, and then fairly ran into her room and closed the door.
A little later the bell began to peal. The graduating class gathered in the porch. Dorothy and Tavia were at the head of the line. The others took their places. Dear little Miss Mingle began to play the march on the piano.
“Hay foot, straw foot!” whispered Tavia, bound to joke even on so serious an occasion.
They led the procession down the steps. As they approached the chapel the organ broke forth in the same march Miss Mingle had begun. The audience room was already crowded, save for the seats reserved for the graduating class.
“Oh! my father!” whispered Tavia.