“And Mr. Scott might be something on the Christmas tree,” returned Dorothy.  “In a pretty, striped dress he would make a dear little cornucopia, his blond head sticking out of the top like a sweet little doll.”

“I’m just going to tell him that,” threatened Tavia.  “Then I will be more sure than ever of—­his attention.”

“Tavia! you wouldn’t do anything like that!”

“Why not?  You were only complimenting him.”

“Now, really, if you do, Tavia, I shall be positively angry,” and Dorothy frowned indignantly.  “When we are exchanging confidences I don’t think it fair to betray them.”

“Oh, all right, if you feel that way about it.  But I really do think these two boys quite an acquisition.  They will help out wonderfully.”

“But college boys are old enough to be engaged,” said Dorothy, “and perhaps we will get no more of their attention than was bestowed upon us to-day,” and she made a wry face to express her fears on that score.

“Engaged!  All the more fun.  I just simply love to make girls jealous.  Now, what girl on earth would be able to hold her admirers against you?”

“Don’t be silly!” snapped Dorothy.  “It’s all very well to joke, but when you get personal—­”

“Oh, I beg your pardon!  And there’s Aunt Winnie.  I promised to line the darning bag—­”

Tavia’s love for idleness was no hidden sin—­she seemed to glory in it.  But occasionally it betrayed her good intentions.  She really did intend to put the pretty blue lining in the dainty darning bag which Mrs. White was making as a gift for old Mrs. Brown, the family mender.  Now the chatter about the college boys had completely driven the task from her mind.

As Mrs. White appeared in the hall Tavia grasped the neglected little article.  Dorothy had been sewing as she talked.  She loved to do certain kinds of stitches, particularly those of floss silk on fine flannel, and this morning she had almost finished the shawl for John’s wife’s new baby.

Mrs. White had been out, and was just returning.  She wore her handsome prune-colored gown, with her mink-tail furs, and both Dorothy and Tavia looked up in undisguised admiration as she entered the room.

Dorothy rose to assist her in removing her wraps.

“Well, it is finally settled,” Mrs. White began.  “I do think these charity affairs are growing more complicated every year.  I have not told you all about it yet; in fact, I could not do so until this morning’s meeting was over.  Now it is all arranged, so I must tell you about it.”

“Aren’t you cold, auntie?” asked Dorothy.  “Shall I get you a warm drink?”

“No, my dear.  We had chocolate at Mrs. Davis’s.  There, now, I am quite comfortable,” and as Dorothy laid the wraps aside her aunt settled among the blue cushions, which, as Nat said, “grew in Dorothy’s room.”

“Is it to be a play?” asked Tavia, always impatient where acting might be concerned.