“That’s why I hate her,” replied Tavia. “I always hate what I can’t have—even beauty.”
“Strange you get along so well with—well, with some people,” answered Molly, casting an appreciative glance at Tavia, with the hazel eyes, and the shade of hair every one loves—no color in particular but all combined in one glow. “Every one envies you, Tavia.”
Dorothy was examining Edna’s wrist.
Meanwhile the new girl kept exclaiming, “Oh, my!” Finally the young man turned to her.
“Are you hurt?” he asked kindly.
Tavia gripped Molly’s arm.
“Oh, I don’t know,” whimpered Miss Faval, “but I am so—nervous.”
It was the greatest wonder in the world that Tavia did not shout “hurrah” or something equally absurd.
“You are shaken up,” said the stranger, “but nerves soon adjust themselves, when there is not any real injury. I see some one else has trouble.” He crossed to Dorothy and Edna. “Can I help you?” he asked. “I know something of medicine.”
“And he was reading a theatrical paper!” Tavia managed to get in line with Molly’s ear. “I’ll wager he turns out to be a baseball player.”