“It surely would,” came from the other. “Do you suppose she would mind if I asked her?” and Edna looked back to where Dorothy was talking to Cologne. “Or perhaps you had better do it, Tavia. You know her so much better than the rest of us, and she won’t mind it—coming from you.”
“That’s right!” cried Tavia with a little laugh. “Blame it all on me! No one minds what I do. I’m the goat, of course. If there’s something unpleasant to be done, let Tavia do it.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean it that way at all!” exclaimed Edna. “You took me up so short——”
“Better be short than long!” went on Tavia, laughing. They could talk rather louder now, as the machine, chugging along, made so much noise that there was no danger of Dorothy hearing.
“No, but seriously,” proceeded Edna. “I do think Doro has some secret trouble. She isn’t at all like her jolly self, and though she has been just as nice as she could be in this trouble, still——”
“Still waters run deep!” interrupted Tavia. “I’m sure I can’t say what it is.”
“Then why don’t you ask?”
“Simply because if Dorothy wanted me to know she’d tell me.”
“She might not. She might be too sensitive. It would be just like her to hold back and not want to tell anyone. Oh, Tavia, I’m almost going to ask her myself if you won’t.”
“Well, I won’t, that’s all there is to it. Let’s start a song. I’m getting dry and lonesome.”