poor, and more so, for they have opportunities of discerning the great
difference between a gentle and polite way of saving persons' feelings
and the rude unpardonable way of seeking refuge behind little quibbles
at the expense of truth.

"We were only joking, of course," said Dorothy finally, jumping up from
her seat on the old tree stump, "But it is different where some one else
is concerned. Everybody is not willing to take a joke you know."

"I've noticed that lately," replied Tavia, pressing both hands to her
cheeks to stop, if possible, the burning of the mullen leaves. "But you
know I once promised to show you how I looked painted. Now I've kept my
promise."

The flaming red of her cheeks seemed to make her eyes blaze as well, and
it could not be denied she looked wonderfully pretty--or would look so
at longer range, through opera glasses, perhaps. But in calm daylight
there was something strange about her face. The short bronze hair, the
dancing hazel eyes,--"

"Tavia," exclaimed Dorothy, dismay in her voice, "I am so sorry--you
look like--an actress."




CHAPTER XXV

AN EMERGENCY CASE