“See here, Dorothy, what is the use? You know you are reflecting upon me, not upon old Don. But with my well-known amiability I forgive you. Whose idea was it that you pretend to be Greek heroines as well as American Girl Scouts?” Lance inquired in the tone that nearly always brought peace.
“Oh, we have not gone into the idea seriously,” Joan Peters returned. Her head was bent over the square frame she held in her lap, her fingers busy with the strands of flax. “Miss Frean comes to camp every few evenings and reads aloud to us. She insists that we are too frivolous in our own summer reading and wishes to read us something we ought to remember.”
Joan Peters liked Lance McClain. She was a great reader and perhaps because of his more delicate health Lance did not feel the same scorn of books that Donald affected.
With a swift movement Tory arose suddenly. Apparently she forgot the group of friends close about her. She clasped her hands tightly together, her eyes suddenly looked larger and darker, her lips twitched.
The Girl Scouts of the Eagle’s Wing had chosen silver and gold as their camp colors.
Near the spot where Tory was standing lay two canoes. One was golden in color with an eagle’s wing in silver on the bow, the other the opposite color scheme. Tory’s own khaki costume looked golden in the sunlight. The water was now silver.
Don had a fleeting impression that Tory intended to jump into one of the canoes and disappear from sight.
Now and then she affected him curiously. He never knew what she intended to do or say. She thought so quickly, moved so swiftly, and he was stupid and slow.
At the present moment he was puzzled and troubled by her sudden look of intense unhappiness. The instant before she had been arguing the respective merits of the two camps and had appeared cheerful as usual.
“What is the matter, Tory? You are the most startling person! You upset one,” Teresa Peterson protested.