“Good-morning,” said Dorothy with all the vivacity she could summon.  “Looking for Christmas mail too?”

“Yes,” replied Miss Brooks, with something of a sigh.  “There are many kinds of Christmas mail, I suppose.”

The reply confused Dorothy.  She did not want to bring sad reflections to the “little woman in black.”

“I guess we will have pleasant weather,” Dorothy hurried to say vaguely.  “I hope so, at any rate, for we must depend considerably upon the weather for the success of our hospital entertainment.  You know, we are to have one.”

“Yes, I’ve seen the tickets,” said Miss Brooks, walking along with Dorothy.  Then both paused.  Both had evidently exhausted the commonplace.

Miss Brooks looked keenly at Dorothy.  The latter could feel her searching gaze, and wondered secretly what it could mean.  Presently Miss Brooks said: 

“I believe you are a prudent girl, Miss Dale, and I wonder if I might trust you with a delicate—­matter?”

“If I can help you—­yes,” answered Dorothy promptly.

“It is not to help me,” said the other, “but to help your friend, Miss Travers.”

Dorothy felt instantly that she referred to Tavia’s troubles—­those troubles which Tavia herself had refused to confide in her.  Should she hear them from another?

In her direct way, without mincing words or risking any misunderstanding, Dorothy said decidedly: 

“If you are sure I can help my friend I will be glad to do so, but I have no wish to interfere in any personal affair of hers.”

Miss Brooks did not weaken.  Dorothy’s honesty in speaking as she did only seemed the more to convince her that Dorothy Dale could and ought to help Tavia Travers.

“I know,” she went on, “that Miss Travers is greatly worried over a matter of money.  I advised her how she could be relieved of that worry, but in spite of my advice I have reason to think that she has only made matters worse by writing to her folks at home and asking them for more money.”

“Writing home for money!” gasped Dorothy.

“Yes; I am sorry to seem a meddler, but I feel that she will greatly complicate matters unless you are clever enough to step in and interfere.  It is the old story of the tangled web; Miss Travers had no idea of doing anything—­irregular.  She simply did as thousands of others do, though I must say boys are usually the victims.  A girl rarely takes such chances.”

Dorothy was too surprised to speak.  They were near the post-office, and both stood in the road to finish the conversation.

“How can I help her?” asked Dorothy simply.

“Well, I must confess it may be difficult, but I see no other way to get her out of her troubles, for she is surely multiplying them.  The latest phase of her difficulty I may tell you of without any risk of betraying professional confidence,” and Miss Brooks smiled faintly.  “She has lately written to her father and to her mother for money—­urging some trifling excuse.  Letters intended for her have fallen into her father’s hands.  He is a lawyer, or in some way connected with legal affairs, is he not?”