that is why I feel I may help her. Ordinarily I would not interfere--it is
really a trifle risky for me, but she seems so young; and--well, I'll take
my chances this time."

Dorothy was completely mystified. She could not guess at any business or
circumstances which might occasion such remarks. But somehow she felt that
the woman spoke with knowledge of something about Tavia. What that
something might be Dorothy was absolutely at a loss to conjecture.

"I know I surprise you," said Miss Brooks, divining her thoughts, "but
some girls do strange things. Miss Travers is evidently one of them."

Dorothy's cheeks flamed at this remark. Why should she speak so of Tavia?

"I have known Miss Travers since she was a child," flashed Dorothy, "and I
have never thought her--strange."

Scarcely had the words been uttered than all Tavia's pranks and follies
seemed to come up before Dorothy's memory like some horrid, mocking
specters.

Surely Tavia had always done "strange things," and very likely only
Dorothy's powerful influence had kept her from risking greater dangers.

But Dorothy could not listen to anything against her nearest and dearest
friend. No stranger had a right to condemn her.

The train was slacking up as it steamed into the big, arched station. Here
Miss Brooks would go her way, while Dorothy would be left to think over
the unexpected happenings of the brief railroad journey.