<h2 id="c9">CHAPTER IX <br/><span class="small">DOROTHY AND TAVIA</span></h2>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“Perhaps,” sighed Tavia.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_80">[80]</div>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>But school would soon be over—and then—</p>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_81">[81]</div>
<p>Dorothy was just about to broach the subject
when Tavia suddenly turned to her with this surprising
question:</p>
<p>“Dorothy, do you think I’m pretty?”</p>
<p>“Why, of course you are,” stammered Dorothy.
“You know I have always thought you—pretty.”</p>
<p>“But I do not mean what you always
thought, Doro. I am awfully serious now. Am
I really pretty?”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“But do you think that in—in a crowd I might
be considered—attractive? Are my features
good? Do I look—look interesting?”</p>
<p>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!</p>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_82">[82]</div>
<p>“Dorothy, do tell me,” she begged. “What
do you think? Am I pretty, or not?”</p>
<p>“Tavia,” exclaimed Dorothy suddenly, “tell
<i>me</i>, why do you want to know?”</p>
<p>“Why,” and Tavia laughed a little to gain
time, “I think any girl ought to know just—what
she is like.”</p>
<p>“But all this—this fussing. Why do you do
it?”</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Come with me,” suggested Tavia. “We
have plenty of room.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_83">[83]</div>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” replied Tavia, vaguely, preparing to
turn out the light.</p>
<p>“When do you think you will come to North
Birchland?” asked Dorothy directly.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_84">[84]</div>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“Oh, my dear,” and Tavia indulged in a discordant
yawn, “do let’s go to sleep. I’m almost
dead.”</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“And you always ask such unreasonable questions,”
retorted Tavia. “Just as if I can tell
what may happen between now and—midsummer.”</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“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!”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_85">[85]</div>
<p>“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!”</p>
<p>“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!”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Something else!” and Tavia tried to laugh.
“Surely it is no crime to be—thoughtful?”</p>
<p>“Well, I think it is perfectly dreadful for a girl
to go and grow straight up—without any warning.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“That’s just it. You would not think it wrong,
but suppose you did something that turned out to
be wrong?”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_86">[86]</div>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_87">[87]</div>
<p>“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 <i>you</i>. 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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_88">[88]</div>
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