Miss Olaine slowly recovered from her emotion—either fear or amazement, Tavia did not know which. She had evidently forgotten the girl’s presence.
She stood up again. The other letters had fallen, and were scattered on the desk. Miss Olaine held the postal card as though she contemplated tearing it in pieces.
But evidently the remembrance that Uncle Sam’s mail laws cannot be violated with impunity, held the teacher’s hand. Slowly she raised the card and placed it—in Dorothy Dale’s letter box!
“Now, whatever under the sun can that mean?” whispered Tavia to herself. “For Dorothy! And she was going to tear it up——”
“Well, Miss! what do you want?” snapped Miss Olaine, suddenly. She seemed quite to have recovered from her emotion, whatever it had been. She spoke more tartly than usual, and glared at Tavia as though the girl had no business there.
“I brought down my exercise as you told me, Miss Olaine,” said Tavia, who was not at all awed by the teacher’s grimness.
“Leave it,” was the short command.
“Can—can I have our mail?”
“You will get your mail at supper time—with the rest of the girls,” replied Miss Olaine.
“But I only thought—as long as I was here——”