For three days after that eventful night Tavia was obliged to keep to her room. She had a fever—from a cold the doctor thought—nothing contagious¹ he was positive—but, as a precautionary measure Dorothy was given another room, until the fever should be entirely² broken.

 

But the two friends were not to be separated much longer, for Tavia had quite recovered now, and was up and about her room, receiving notes and flowers from the girls, and recuperating³ generally.

 

“The first good rest I’ve had in months,” Tavia told Dorothy, as they sat together again on the little window seat, looking out on the tennis court.

 

“I do really believe you look better than you did before you were taken ill,” agreed Dorothy, giving her friend a look of unmistakable admiration⁴.

 

[48]

“That’s lucky for me,” Tavia replied with something that sounded like a sigh.

 

“Why?” asked Dorothy in some surprise.

 

“Oh, nothing,” was the answer, given rather evasively. “But a girl can’t afford to get scrawny. Fancy yourself slinking down like a cornstalk in the fall! Why, even the unapproachable Dorothy Dale could not well stand the slinking process, to say nothing of an ordinary gawk like me going through it,” and Tavia slyly looked into the mirror. She evidently had some particular reason for being so anxious about her good looks.

 

Dorothy had been noticing this peculiarity⁵ of Tavia’s for some time—she had been so extreme about her toilet articles—using cold cream to massage⁶ her face daily, then brushing her hair ardently⁷ every night, to say nothing of the steam baths she had been giving her face twice a week.

 

All this seemed very strange to Dorothy, but when she laughed at Tavia’s new-found pastimes the latter declared she was going to look nice for the summer; and that any girl who did not take care of herself externally was quite as blamable as she who neglected the hidden beauty of heart or brain.

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