Mrs. White studied her closely, but of course, unobserved. She was a
fine girl, no doubt of it, and a pleasant companion for Dorothy. Her
humor was as pure as the bubbles in the brook, and just as unfailing.
And what a pretty girl she was! Those hazel eyes and that bronze head.
No wonder even the foreign barber had noted that it was "scarce."

"A veritable wildflower," concluded the hostess, just as others had
said; Major Dale for instance.

Dorothy was of an entirely different type. Her beauty was the sort that
grows more and more attractive, as character develops, not depending
upon mere facial outline.

"Now, children, off to bed with you," said Mrs. White, touching the bell
to tell the maid the late lunch was over, "and to-morrow you know we go
to camp. You will not have a headache, Tavia?"

"I have never had one in my life," answered Tavia, in that polite tone
she always used in speaking to the hostess. "Perhaps my head does not
know enough to ache."

"Blissful ignorance then," replied Mrs. White, "see to it that you never
become so worldly-wise as to learn how. A head that does not ache is a
joy forever."

Hasty good nights were exchanged, and this time there was no "waking
night-mare" for Tavia. She wanted to sleep--young hearts may ache once
in a while, but they have a comfortable habit of deferring to tired
nature at least once in twenty-four hours.