Dorothy Dale's Great Secret

CHAPTER III
A CUP OF TEA

“Dorothy,” began Tavia that evening, as the two girls sat alone in their room, enjoying their usual good-night conference, “why couldn’t you take that spin out to the auto meet. It would be no end of good fun.”

“Fun!” echoed Dorothy, surprised that Tavia should again venture to propose such a thing. “Why, Tavia! Really you shock me!” Then she went to the little dresser, under pretext of looking for something, but in reality to gain time – she scarcely knew what to say to her chum, whose sudden whim was so startling.

Tavia sat on the box divan, her hands in her lap, and her brown head bent over, a strange and serious attitude for the girl who was never known to sit still, even in church; and who had the reputation of being the jolliest girl at Glenwood. For some moments she appeared to be unconscious of Dorothy’s presence, so absorbed was she in her own thoughts. Dorothy was now regarding her curiously. What could have turned Tavia’s head? For turned from its usually bright and happy line of thought it plainly was.

“What is it, Tavia?” she asked finally, stealing up to the crouched figure, and placing her arm gently about her chum’s neck.

“Why?” inquired the other, with a sudden start, as if afraid Dorothy would divine her thoughts.

“You are worried about something – come tell me what it is!”

“Worried!” Tavia jumped up, shaking off Dorothy’s arm. “Worried! Dorothy Dale, I believe you’re not well! You act morbid – creepy!”

Dorothy turned away. She was hurt – crushed – that Tavia should spurn her affection and refuse her confidence.

“We always told each other everything,” and Dorothy almost sighed, as her words came slowly, and with strange coldness. “I never imagined you would keep any important secret from me.”

“You silly!” exclaimed Tavia, throwing her arms around Dorothy this time. “Who said I had a secret? What in the world has put that wild notion into your yellow head? – bless it!”

This last expression brought a kiss to the golden ringlets, and, as the two girls sat there, Dorothy with a far-away look in her eyes that were clouded with unbidden tears, Tavia with her cheek pressed lovingly against the blond head, and her own eyes looking into some unknown future, their pose was like a stage picture – the kind usually presented when one sister is about to leave a country home, and the other bids her stay.

“Aren’t we a couple of jays!” broke in Tavia, as soon as she appeared to realize the melo-dramatic effect. “I declare we ought to travel as ‘The Glum Sisters – Mag and Liz.’ There! Wouldn’t we make a hit for teary ones? Weeps are in great demand they say. Smiles are being overworked in the profresh!” and she strode up to the mirror with a most self-satisfied glance at her pretty face.

“Tavia, you are getting awfully big for slang – it seems more like sneering than joking,” exclaimed Dorothy. “And I’ve been wanting to say that to you – some of the other girls have noticed it. They say you act more like a chorus girl than a Glenwood pupil. Of course I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I thought it would be better for me to tell you than for you to hear it from some one else.”

“Chorus girl! Thanks! No need to apologize, I assure you. That’s from silly, little Nita Brandt, I suppose? Well, better to act like a chorus girl than – a fool!” blurted out Tavia with a show of temper. “And any silly girl, who can not keep things to herself – well, I always thought Nita was a featherhead and now I know it!”

“Oh, indeed it was not Nita!” Dorothy hastened to assure her. “It was at the lawn tea the other day. You were ‘acting’; don’t you remember? Doing that funny toe dance you are always trying lately.”

“O-o-o-o-h!” and Tavia made a queer little pout, and a very funny face. “So they appreciated my maiden effort, eh? I am indeed flattered! Tell the girls I’m much obliged and I’ll see that they get passes for the initial performance. Tell them, also, to have the bouquets tagged – it’s so annoying to have a great stack of ‘Please accepts’ to answer, with the superscriptions ‘cut out’ so to speak. I know all the girls will send pansies – they are so sweet, and would make such wicked faces for the girls who could not conveniently present their own adorable ‘phizes’!”

“What in the world are you talking about?” asked Dorothy, who had been listening to the outburst with a queer idea that all this stage business was not mere idle chatter – that there might be a reason for Tavia’s cynicism.

“Talking about auto rides,” quietly answered Tavia, recovering herself with an effort. “Wasn’t that a dandy this afternoon? And to think we might have missed that ‘Horatius at the bridge’ business if I had been silly enough to mention that the planking was gone!”

“Don’t talk of it!” exclaimed Dorothy, shuddering. “I cannot bear to think of what might have happened. And, Tavia, you must not think I have adopted the lecture platform for good, but I must say, it was careless of you not to mention about the bridge – especially as you knew what a hill led down to it, and how the Fire Bird can cover hills.”

“Of course you know I entirely forgot it, Doro,” and now Tavia showed some remorse at the reprimand.

“My! There’s the bell!” exclaimed Dorothy as a clang sounded down the corridor. “I had no idea it was so late,” and she jumped up to disrobe. “Quick, or Miss Higley will see our light.”

“Let her,” answered Tavia indifferently. “I don’t feel very well, and would just love something warm – say a nice little cup of tea – ”

A tap at the door interrupted her remarks. Dorothy jumped into a large closet and Tavia calmly opened the portal.

It was Miss Higley, the second assistant teacher, with rather a forbidding expression on her wrinkled face, and who, among the girls, bore a reputation characterized as “sour.”

“Why is this?” she demanded, stepping in and brushing Tavia aside.

“I was just thinking of calling you,” answered Tavia, clapping her hand to her waist line. “I have such a dreadful – Oh, dear!” and she sat down without further explanation.

“Do you need anything?” asked Miss Higley, her tone more kindly.

“Oh, no; certainly not,” sighed Tavia. “I would not trouble you. But if I might have a sip of tea – that tea you brought Dorothy did her so much good the other night.”

She paused to allow a proper expression of agony to spread over her face, and gently rubbed her hand over the region covered by her belt.

“I suppose you made that tea yourself, didn’t you? It was so good, Dorothy told me.”

That settled it. For any one to praise Miss Higley’s brew! So few persons really do appreciate a good cup of tea. As usual Tavia had “won out.”

“Why of course I’ll get you a cup. I have just made a small pot – I felt rather – rather tired myself. I don’t, as a rule, drink tea at night, but I was not altogether well. Where is Dorothy?”

“Just slipping on a robe,” with a glance at the closet where her chum was concealed. “I’m afraid I disturbed her,” went on Tavia glibly.

“Well, I’ll get the tea,” Miss Higley remarked, as she started to leave the room. “I’ll bring the pot here and we can take it together.”

“Quick!” called Tavia to Dorothy as the door closed. “Slip on your robe. Tea with Higley! Of all the doin’s!” and she promptly turned a somersault on the hitherto unrumpled bed. “Won’t the girls howl! I do hope she brings biscuits. There, get down your box, you precious miser! Just think of ‘crackering’ Higley!”

Dorothy appeared dumfounded. It had all been arranged so quickly – and there was Miss Higley back again. She carried a tray with a small china teapot and three blue cups to match.

“I thought Dorothy might like a cup,” she remarked in a sort of apologetic way. “There now,” as Tavia and Dorothy relieved her of the tray, “it will be pleasant to have a sip together. Of course we would not do it but for Octavia’s illness.” (Tavia looked to be in dreadful pain at that moment.) “But since we have to give her a cup of tea, we may as well make a virtue of necessity.”

“It is very kind of you, Miss Higley,” Dorothy said, rather hesitatingly. “I’m sure that we – that is I – I mean Tavia – should not have put you to all this trouble – but of course one can’t help being ill,” she hastened to add, for she felt she was rather giving Tavia’s secret away.

“It really is too bad to make all this fuss,” the supposed sufferer interjected. “You went to a lot of trouble for me, Miss Higley, and I appreciate it very much,” and Tavia winked the eye next to Dorothy, but concealed the sign from the sight of the instructress. Tavia was trying hard not to laugh, and her repressed emotion shook the tray to the no small danger of upsetting the teapot, cups and all.

“I never consider my duty any trouble,” answered Miss Higley, seeming to feel the obligation of being dignified. In fact, it did not occur to her just then that she was doing a most unprecedented thing – taking tea with two school girls, and after hours at that! However, she had committed herself, and now there was no way out. Dorothy presented her package of chocolate crackers, and Miss Higley took some, while Tavia arranged the tea tray on the little table.

Surely the scene was mirth-provoking. Dorothy in her pretty blue robe, Tavia with her hair loose, collar off and shoes unlaced, and Miss Higley, prim as ever, in her brown mohair, with the long black cord on her glasses. There the three sat, sipping tea and “making eyes,” – “too full for utterance,” as Tavia would say.

“Such lovely tea,” Dorothy managed to gulp out at the risk of allowing her mouth to get loose in a titter, once the tight line of silence was broken.

Then, all at once they stopped drinking – some one was coming down the hall. Miss Higley arose instantly. The gentle tap on the door was answered by Tavia.

Mrs. Pangborn!

“Oh,” she apologized, “I did not mean to disturb a little social tea. Do sit down, Honorah,” to Miss Higley. “I’m very glad to see you enjoying yourself,” and Mrs. Pangborn meant what she said.

“Oh, indeed, I merely came to administer to a sick girl. Octavia was suddenly taken with cramps.”

Mrs. Pangborn glanced at Tavia.

“But that cup of tea has made me feel so much better,” declared Dorothy’s room-mate, with that kind of truth that mere words make – the kind that challenges falsehood.

“I am always glad to see you looking after the girls, Honorah,” went on the principal, “but I am equally glad to see you consider yourself. I’m sure you have a perfect right to take a cup of tea here. My dear,” to Dorothy, “perhaps you have a sip left?”

Dorothy found there was another cup of the beverage, still warm in the little teapot, and this she poured into her own pink and white china cup for Mrs. Pangborn.

Miss Higley remained standing, seemingly too abashed to move.

“Do finish yours,” said Tavia, pushing the empty chair toward the embarrassed teacher.

But Tavia’s mirth showed through her alleged illness, and Miss Higley began to feel that she had been imposed upon.

“If you – if you will excuse me,” she stammered.

“Oh, do finish your tea,” begged Mrs. Pangborn, and so the severe little teacher was obliged to sit down again.

An hour later Tavia was still trying to “untwist her kinks,” as she described her attacks of muffled laughter.

“Oh, wasn’t it gloriotious!” she exclaimed. “To think I couldn’t get a single twinge in my entire system! If I only could put that sort of a cramp in alcohol, wouldn’t it be an heirloom to Glenwood!”

“Please do stop,” pleaded Dorothy, from under her quilt. “The next time they may bring a doctor and a stomach pump, and if you don’t let me go to sleep I do believe I will call her.”

“You dare to and I’ll get something dreadfully contagious, so you will have to be disinfected and isolated. But Higley the terrible! The abused little squinty-eyed tattle-tale! Oh, when Mrs. Pangborn said she was glad to see her enjoying herself! That persecuted saint enjoying herself! Didn’t she look the part?”

But even such mirth must succumb to slumber when the victim is young and impressionable, so, with yawns and titters, Tavia finally quieted down to sleep.

CHAPTER IV
THE APPARITION

It seemed to Dorothy that she had scarcely closed her eyes when she was startled by someone moving about the room. She sat up straight to make sure she was not dreaming, and then she saw a white object standing before the mirror!

A beam of moonlight glimmered directly across the glass, and Dorothy could now see that the figure was Tavia.

Surmising that her companion had merely arisen to get a throat lozenge, for she had been taking them lately, Dorothy did not speak, expecting Tavia to return to her bed directly.

But the girl stood there – so long and so still that Dorothy soon called to her.

“What is the matter, Tavia?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing,” returned the other, without looking around.

“But what are you doing?”

“Making up,” and Dorothy could see her daubing cold cream over her face.

Still convinced that Tavia was busy with some ordinary toilet operation, as she had, of late, become very particular about such matters, Dorothy turned over and closed her eyes. But she could not sleep. Something uncanny seemed to disturb her every time she appeared to be dropping off into a doze.

Finally she sat up again. There was Tavia still before the mirror, daubing something over her face.

“Tavia!” called Dorothy sharply. “What in the world are you doing?”

“Making up,” replied Tavia a second time, and without moving from her original position.

Making up! Surely she was spreading cold cream and red crayon dust all over her face! Had she lost her mind?

For an instant Dorothy stood watching her. But Tavia neither spoke nor turned her head.

“Tavia!” she called, taking hold of the hand that held the red chalk. Dorothy noticed that Tavia’s palm and fingers were cold and clammy! And Tavia’s eyes were open, though they seemed sightless. Dorothy was thoroughly frightened now. Should she call someone? Miss Higley had charge of that wing of the school, and perhaps would know what to do. But Dorothy hesitated to make a scene. Tavia was never ill, and if this was only some queer spell it would not be pleasant to have others know about it.

Then, feeling intuitively, that this “making up” should not be made a public affair, Dorothy determined to get Tavia back into her own bed.

“Are you ill?” she asked, rubbing her own hand over her companion’s greasy forehead.

“Ill? No, indeed,” Tavia replied, as mechanically as she had spoken before. Still she smeared on the cold cream and red crayon.

“Come!” commanded Dorothy, and, to her amazement, the girl immediately laid down the box of cream and the stick of chalk while Dorothy led her to the bed and helped her to make herself comfortable on the pillows.

Then Dorothy quietly went to the dresser and lighted a tiny candle, carrying it over to Tavia’s bedside.

Peering anxiously into her face she found her room-mate sleeping and breathing naturally. There was no evidence of illness, and then, for the first time, it occurred to Dorothy that Tavia had been walking in her sleep! And making-up in her sleep!

What could it mean?

How ghastly that hideous color and the streaks made Tavia’s face appear!

And, as Dorothy sat beside the bed, gazing into that besmeared face, while the flicker of the little candle played like a tiny lime-light over the girl’s cruelly changed features, a strange fear came into Dorothy’s heart!

After all, was Tavia going to disappoint her? Would she fail just when she seemed to have turned the most dangerous corner in her short career – that of stepping from the freedom of girlhood into the more dignified realm of young-ladyship? And would she always be just ordinary Tavia Travers? Always of contradictory impulses, was she never to be relied upon – never to become a well-bred girl?

Tavia turned slightly and rubbed her hand across her face. She seemed to breathe heavily, Dorothy thought, and, as she touched Tavia’s painted cheek she was certain it was feverish. With that promptness of action that had always characterized Dorothy’s work in real emergencies, she snatched the cold cream from the dresser where Tavia had left it, and, with deft fingers, quickly rubbed a generous supply over the face on the pillows.

Although Tavia was waking now Dorothy was determined, if possible, to remove all traces of the red paint before Tavia herself should know that it had been on her cheeks. Briskly, but with a hand gentle and calm, Dorothy rubbed the cream off on her own linen handkerchief, taking the red mixture with it. Nothing was now left on Tavia’s face but a thin coating of the cold cream. That could tell no tales.

Tavia turned to Dorothy and opened her eyes.

“What – what is the matter?” she asked, like one waking from a strange dream.

“Nothing, dear,” answered Dorothy. “But I guess you had some night vision,” and she placed the candle, still lighted, on the dresser.

“Did I call? Did I have the nightmare? Why are you not in bed?”

“I got up to see if you were all right,” answered Dorothy truthfully. “Do you want anything? Shall I get you a nice cool drink from the ice tank?”

Tavia was rubbing her face.

“What’s this on my cheeks?” she asked, bringing down her hand, smeared with cold cream.

“I thought you were feverish,” said Dorothy, “and I put a little cream on your face – cold cream might be better than nothing, I thought, as we had no alcohol.”

Tavia did not seem her natural self, and Dorothy, not slow to note the change in her, was only waiting to see her companion more fully awake, and so out of danger of being shocked suddenly, before calling for help, or, at least, for some medicine.

“My head aches awfully,” said the girl on the bed. “I would like a drink of water – if – if it is not too much trouble.”

A call bell was just at the door and Dorothy touched the gong as she went out into the hall to get the water.

She had scarcely returned with the drink when Miss Higley, in gown and slippers, entered the room. The light had been turned on by this time, and Tavia could see that the teacher was present, but, whether too sick or too sleepy to notice, she seemed to take the situation as a matter of course, and simply drank the water that Dorothy held to her lips, then sank wearily back on her pillow.

Miss Higley, without saying a word, picked up the hand that lay on the coverlet and felt the pulse. Dorothy stood looking anxiously on.

Tavia really seemed sick, and the tinge of scarlet crayon, that remained after Dorothy’s cold cream wash, added a higher tint to the feverish flush that now suffused the girl’s cheeks.

“Yes, she has a fever,” whispered Miss Higley. “But it is not a very high one. I will go and get my thermometer. Meanwhile pick up your garments, Dorothy, so you can take my room, while I stay here the rest of the night.”

Before Dorothy could answer Miss Higley had tiptoed noiselessly from the apartment. Dorothy did not like to leave Tavia – surely it was not anything that might be contagious. But when the teacher returned she insisted on Dorothy going directly to the room at the end of the hall, while she took up her post at the bedside of Tavia.

It seemed so hard to Dorothy to leave her friend there alone with a comparative stranger. As she reluctantly closed the door on Tavia and Miss Higley, Dorothy’s eyes were filled with tears. What could be the matter? All the joking had turned into reality in that short time!

But Tavia was surely not suffering any pain, thought Dorothy, as she seemed so sleepy and did not even murmur when Miss Higley gave her the fever medicine. It flashed across Dorothy’s mind that it might have been better to have acquainted Miss Higley with the way Tavia’s attack came on – to tell her of the scene before the mirror – but somehow, Dorothy felt that she should not be told – that it would be easier for Tavia if her strange actions were not mentioned to any one – even to Tavia herself. Dorothy felt the matter would not be a pleasant one to discuss.

And as no one knew it but Dorothy, she would keep it to herself, unless some development in Tavia’s illness would make it necessary to give the entire history of the case.

With a head almost bursting, it seemed, from the stress of the complication of worry and anxiety, Dorothy finally settled down on Miss Higley’s cretonne couch, while the teacher tried to make herself comfortable in Dorothy’s place, and Tavia Travers lay still and heavy with a fever, all unconscious of the changes that were going on about her.