“Your foot,” replied Cologne.
“But what happened to my foot?” went on Tavia.
“Oh, I see. Something happened that did not happen. Well, there’s a hole in the rug just at your door. How’s that?”
“The cream!” exclaimed Tavia, “if you will pardon the slang. Dorothy, I did trip in that hole, when I went out.”
“Send your own excuse,” replied Dorothy. “I am busy with my personal worries to-day.”
This was very unlike Dorothy, but Tavia understood it.
“Well, I must go,” said Cologne. “And I am sorry, Doro, that you refuse to sanction our terms of war. Cecilia Reynolds has been simply unbearable these last few days, and Jean Faval is getting wrinkled from spite. However, I’ll report, and let you know. By the way, will you fetch Zada to-night? She has been nominated?”
“If I go,” said Dorothy, “but I—may not. It depends.”
“And Cologne,” said Tavia, “will you send Ned to me at noon? I have some instructions for her.”
“Of course,” said the president of the Glens. “But don’t be too hard on Ned. She is not as reckless as you,” with a sharp glance at the girl on the bed.