“Rose-Mary was particularly anxious that you should come, Tavia,” declared Dorothy, with emphasis, “and she has the reputation of never giving an insincere invitation.  She likes you, and wants to enjoy you, as well as to have you enjoy yourself.”

“Three cheers for the enjoys,” retorted Tavia, “and may their shadow never grow less.  But say, Dorothy, how did you get out of the scrape?  I was a traitor to run, but somehow I couldn’t stand for Higley’s look.  When she puts her alleged features at half mast, and sounds taps, I have to quit.”

“But we had to stand.  I can’t see any good reason for telling you about it—­making a report to the deserter.”

“Now, Doro,” and Tavia fairly melted into sweetness, “I simply cannot slumber until I have heard.  Did Nita peach?”

“There was nothing to hide in our part of the—­comedy,” declared Dorothy.  “Of course, we skipped the man part, and left out the hay cart dump, besides omitting the sheep act, and forgetting the farmer’s whip——­”

“Hip!  Hip!” threatened Tavia.  “Couldn’t have done better myself.  And no one ordered to the guard house?”

“You have not yet been accounted for,” said Dorothy, with well-aimed meaning.  “Miss Higley said she would see to your account herself.”

“Will, eh?  Not if I see her first.  Did any one say I was there?  I should think, with such remarkable skill at omitting, that you might have had the good taste to omit me.”

“Tavia, does it strike you that this is packing-up night?  That to-morrow we make all our bouquets of remembrance, more or less artificial, and that the day following——­”

“We flit the flutter!  And good riddance!  I just abhor school—­notice how I have improved?  Last year I ‘hated’ it.”

“And I must admit you have improved otherwise than in your vocabulary,” said Dorothy.  “Seems to me you have grown almost tall.”

“Thanks, pretty maiden.  Any more in stock like that?” and Tavia jumped up to get a look in the glass.  “Tell me, before I shrink—­in your opinion,” she begged, making queer passes before the mirror.  “But say, Doro, do you ever take a look at yourself?  I have to say you are simply splendid, and that’s putting it mild.  The Dalton youths will be suiciding on account of the returned Calla—­that lily is the one that stands beings boxed up without food or—­atmosphere—­for half the year, I believe, hence my comparison:  you have withstood Glenwood, and come out of the ring more beautiful than when you entered.  Oh, you need not protest!  Everybody admits that you are a perfect Dresden, animated, of course,” and Tavia gazed with unstinted admiration at the girl under the study lamp.

“Well, I hope I have not actually grown homely,” conceded Dorothy, “for Aunt Winnie is so fond of a good appearance.”

“Your hair is darker—­that is, on the ripe corn shade.  I like that better than the fourteen karat variety.  I only wish mine would turn mahogany.  I have a mind to turn it.”