“I came to congratulate you, my dear,” said Mrs. White warmly.  “Most of the success of the entertainment was due to—­ Why—­what—­you are almost crying,” and she stopped in some confusion.

“Oh, aunty!” wailed Dorothy.  “I seem to be so misunderstood lately.  And Agnes Sinclair made such a queer—­such a strange remark to me—­just as I was leaving the last tableau.”

“Why, what could she say, child?”

“She said—­she said,” and Dorothy hesitated, while the warm blood coursed to her pale cheeks—­“she said—­everybody knew Tom Scott was in—­in love with me!”

Mrs. White simply stared at her niece.  Then she shook her head ruefully, but she hardly knew what to say, for fear of further embarrassing Dorothy.

“Why, you dear, precious baby!” she exclaimed at length, as she placed her hand caressingly on Dorothy’s head.  “Doesn’t everybody know what Agnes thinks of Tom?  She is old enough to have such thoughts, and her reason for inflicting them on you, my dear, is merely a consequence of you—­of you doing the work that older girls usually do.  I should not have allowed you to take so much responsibility, Dorothy.  We know, however,” continued Mrs. White very gently, “that the pretty Agnes admires Mr. Scott very much.  So you must excuse her seeming indiscretion.”

Dorothy’s mind was instantly relieved.  If Agnes did like Tom, of course she might have thought he was neglecting her for Dorothy.  And he had only been trying to help Dorothy—­there were so many things to do.

“But Agnes seemed so fond of Ned,” spoke Dorothy after a pause.

“You are too tired to think about such things now,” said Mrs. White firmly.  “You are over-sensitive.  Why should you care about so trifling a thing as that?”

Dorothy did not answer.  She was tired—­very tired.  Perhaps she was over-sensitive.  But when she reflected that Ned had said almost the same thing—­

To change the subject Mrs. White told her niece about Dr. Baker, what he had said, and how interested he was in little Mary.

“Oh, I’m so glad of that,” said Dorothy.  “I hope—­”

But at that moment Tavia poked her head in the door to see what was going on in Dorothy’s room, that she had not come to her chum, or summoned her, to talk over the events of the evening.

“Ned is calling for you, Mrs. White,” said Tavia.

“I’ll go at once; but remember,” she commanded playfully to the two girls, “no more chattering to-night.  To-morrow is another day.”

“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Tavia, when the door had closed on Mrs. White and the two girls were alone in Dorothy’s room, “I’m so frightened, Doro, dear.  I should have gone home.  What am I going to say to my father?”

“I will do all the saying that is necessary,” bravely offered Dorothy.  “It was I who kept you.”

“Yes, and I know why.”

“Why, then?”

“Simply to fix it up for me.  You never could intrust me with such an important commission.”