Dorothy looked very serious. She said—thinking of Jean Faval’s letter in a Marsall Investment Company envelope: “Perhaps it would be best not to antagonize them. It won’t cost us anything to wait.”
“It costs us this slur at you,” said Cologne defiantly. “And not one of the committee will have it so.”
“If you say I wish it?” pleaded Dorothy. And something in her voice told Cologne that all was not right.
“Why, Dorothy, is there really anything wrong? Tell me?” she begged, and she took up the trembling hand that lay on the chair arm.
“Not wrong?” she answered, “but we—have some financial dangers at home. Here, it seems, that—is wrong!”
Tavia was winking and blinking at Cologne, but could not get her attention. Finally, under pretense of stretching her well foot, she managed to reach Cologne with it.
“Let them alone, and they’ll come home,” she whispered. “They have troubles enough, poor lambs. But what’s to be done about this hoof? I can’t get to class?”
Dorothy seemed to have lost interest in the sore ankle. She was looking blankly at the rug.
“Why, you have a good excuse,” Cologne said to Tavia. “You can’t get to class.”
“If you know of a good excuse, will you please produce it? Remember I am a member of the Glens in good standing,” said Tavia.