for more than a week after the happenings at sunset lake the pupils of glenwood school had little time for anything outside of the regular program of the institution. it was a matter of sleep, eat, exercise, then study and recite, and then the same schedule was begun all over again the following day. but this was the end of the term and so much remained to be done that it was necessary to “keep going” as the girls expressed it, so that the “last day” would find the records of the year’s work up to the usual high standard.
“this mental house-cleaning is perfectly terriblocious!” declared tavia one morning, showing her aptitude at coining alleged new words, this one being a “contraction” of terrible and ferocious.
“but how nice it will be when we are all done,” dorothy reminded her, taking up her books and papers, to attend the last exercise in mathematics.
“perhaps,” sighed tavia.
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the conversation was ended abruptly by the sound of the bell summoning the girls to class, and they went back to the “house-cleaning,” each doing her best to finish honorably, in spite of the difference of their respective motives.
that evening dorothy and tavia went to their room early. tavia seemed tired, and dorothy did not wish to disturb her by coming in later.
neither appeared inclined to talk, and, as tavia went through her elaborate toilet preparations (the facial massage and all the accompaniments) dorothy watched her in silence.
strange as it was to believe tavia so vain, dorothy had become accustomed to this nightly process, and now accepted it without comment. neither had she ever told tavia of that night when, in her sleep, she had gone through the making-up process.
but school would soon be over—and then—
for some time dorothy had been putting off a talk she desired to have with tavia—a talk about their vacation plans. somehow she dreaded to undertake the topic that tavia had been so obviously avoiding. but to-night dorothy felt that she must have an understanding—she must know where her room-mate intended to spend her vacation.
[81]
dorothy was just about to broach the subject when tavia suddenly turned to her with this surprising question:
“dorothy, do you think i’m pretty?”
“why, of course you are,” stammered dorothy. “you know i have always thought you—pretty.”
“but i do not mean what you always thought, doro. i am awfully serious now. am i really pretty?”
“i don’t know,” replied her chum. “i could not tell what others might think—but i have always thought you the prettiest kind of a girl—you know that.”
“but do you think that in—in a crowd i might be considered—attractive? are my features good? do i look—look interesting?”
this was said with such apparent simplicity that dorothy almost laughed. there stood a pretty girl—without question a remarkably pretty girl—of a most unusual type—and she was begging for a compliment—no, for an opinion of her personality!
dorothy did not answer. she could not possibly say that at that moment tavia was a perfect vision, as she stood in her white robe, with her freshly-brushed hair framing the outline of her sweet, young face. but the girl before the mirror wanted to know.
[82]
“dorothy, do tell me,” she begged. “what do you think? am i pretty, or not?”
“tavia,” exclaimed dorothy suddenly, “tell me, why do you want to know?”
“why,” and tavia laughed a little to gain time, “i think any girl ought to know just—what she is like.”
“but all this—this fussing. why do you do it?”
“to experiment,” and tavia laughed lightly. “they say one can do wonders with a little care. i am tired of reading that in the magazines so i thought i would just try it.” she had finished with the glycerine and rose water now, so the “stuffs” were put away and tavia sank down with a “glad-of-it” sigh.
“of course,” began dorothy, breaking into the topic of summer vacation, “you will go home first, before you come to north birchland. you will want to see everybody in dalton—i wish i could go along with you. but i have no home in dalton now.”
“come with me,” suggested tavia. “we have plenty of room.”
[83]
“oh, i was only romancing. of course i should like to see everybody in dear old dalton, but i have to go to daddy and the boys. isn’t it splendid to have a vacation? it makes school worth while.”
“yes,” replied tavia, vaguely, preparing to turn out the light.
“when do you think you will come to north birchland?” asked dorothy directly.
“i can’t tell. i expect to visit grace barnum in buffalo. her folks are old friends of mother’s. i had a letter from her yesterday, especially inviting me.”
“oh, did you?” and dorothy looked surprised. “i did not hear you speak of going to buffalo. i thought you intended to come to birchland as soon as you had seen your folks. you know aunt winnie expects you. and so do the boys.”
“oh, i’ll get to the birches some time during the summer i guess,” tavia hurried to say, as she noted dorothy’s disappointment. “you can depend upon it i expect to have some of the fine times—you are not to have a monopoly of the good things.”
[84]
“then you are going to dalton first, then to buffalo, and what time do you count on getting to birchland?” persisted dorothy, determined to know, if possible, just what tavia’s plans really were.
“oh, my dear,” and tavia indulged in a discordant yawn, “do let’s go to sleep. i’m almost dead.”
“but, tavia, you always make some excuse when i ask you about vacation,” and dorothy’s tone was in no way drowsy—she certainly was not sleepy.
“and you always ask such unreasonable questions,” retorted tavia. “just as if i can tell what may happen between now and—midsummer.”
“tavia!” exclaimed dorothy with a sob. “i feel just as if something dreadful was going to happen. i don’t know why but you—you have—changed so,” and the girl buried her head in her pillow and cried as if something “dreadful” had really happened.
“doro, dear,” and tavia clasped the weeping girl in her arms, “what can be the matter? what have i done? you know i love you better than anyone in the whole world, and now you accuse me of changing!”
[85]
“but you have changed,” insisted dorothy, sobbing bitterly. “everybody is talking about it. and if you knew what a time i have had trying—trying to stand up for you!”
“to stand up for me!” repeated tavia. “what have i done that need provoke comment? surely it is my own business if i do not choose to be the school monkey any longer. let some of the others turn in and serve on the giggling committee. i think i have done my share!”
“oh, it isn’t that,” and dorothy jabbed her handkerchief into her eyes, “but you are so—so different. you always seem to be thinking of something else.”
“something else!” and tavia tried to laugh. “surely it is no crime to be—thoughtful?”
“well, i think it is perfectly dreadful for a girl to go and grow straight up—without any warning.”
“what an old lady i must be,” and tavia looked very severe and dignified. “but, doro dear, you need not worry. you surely believe i would never do anything i really thought wrong.”
“that’s just it. you would not think it wrong, but suppose you did something that turned out to be wrong?”
tavia made no answer but the “old lady” look came back into her face—that serious expression so new to her. she seemed to be looking far ahead—far away—at some uncertain, remote possibility.
[86]
for several minutes neither girl spoke. they could hear the “miscreants” who had been out after hours creeping past their door. every one in glenwood should be asleep. the last hall light had just been turned out—but the girls from dalton were still thinking.
dorothy, usually the one to mend matters, to-night seemed sullen and resolute. plainly tavia was hiding something from her, and while dorothy could bear with any amount of mistakes or impulsive little wrongdoings, she could not put up with a deliberate slight—a premeditated act of deception.
tavia saw that she was bound to hold out—to insist upon a “clearing up,” and, as this did not suit her, for reasons best known to herself, she attempted to pet dorothy back to her usual forgiving mood.
but the storm that had been so long brewing was in no hurry to blow over, and dorothy went to bed with swollen eyes and an aching head, while tavia only pretended to sleep—she had an important letter to write—an answer to the one that had come in on the evening mail, and required to be replied to by return of post. this meant that the missive must be penned that night and dropped in the post-office the very first thing in the morning.
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“dear little dorothy,” tavia murmured as she looked down on the fair face, to make sure that the eyes were resting in sleep, “i will never do anything to disgrace you. only have a little patience and you will understand it all. but i must—must—” and then she broke off with a long, long sigh.
