“We’ll soon be back to the old Glen, Doro,” she said, “and I know you’ll be glad. As for me, I count this my last hour of freedom, and feel as if I were going to——”
“Now, Tavia, you know perfectly well that you are just as fond of Glenwood as I am,” replied Dorothy, with something akin to a smile. “But of course, you have to get your fun out of growling. Really, I think this time you won’t be able to get it out of me. I am—glum!”
“That will be the best fun ever. To have you glum! Have you been to a fortune teller, or anything like that, Doro?”
Dorothy looked harder than ever out of the window, and did not bother to reply.
“Because, Doro,” went on Tavia, “if she told you a friend is going to be married it’s me. If she said you would get a letter, asking for money, that’s from me. If she said a very dear friend was going to get in some new kind of trouble, that will also be me, and last, if she said you were going to cross water, it will be on account of my health. I love fortune tellers, they pick out such good news,” and Tavia glanced across the aisle at a rather good-looking young man, who was reading a theatrical paper.
Dorothy touched Tavia’s hand. “There,” she said, “I am not going to have any more blues. I can’t manage well with them, and I have to manage you, Tavia.”
“Now, have you only just discovered that? Well, all I can say is that I am glad the other girls did not get these seats. They are—ahem—so convenient!”
“But there is one vacant place just back of the young man whom you are watching,” said Dorothy, teasingly.
“And there comes one of our girls,” exclaimed Tavia. “I wager she flops into it.”
The prediction was correct. A new girl, with very up-to-date apparel, and very flashy jewelry, had taken the vacant seat. The book she carried showed its title plainly, and was, of course, one of “the best sellers.”