throwing her arms out toward the slender form of the girl seated ahead of her in the auto.

“At any rate,” finished Dorothy, “I’m perfectly sure that my cousins will never take part in any such nonsense.”

“Oh, Mr. Flea, you’ve bitten me, and you must die!” sang Tavia, making a series of melo-dramatic gestures, that caused the boys to laugh and even made Dorothy smile in forgiveness.

“Thus are my social ambitions nipped in the bud—extinguished in their first, faint gleaming,” went on Tavia, assuming a tone of tragedy. “Well, my fairy-godmother, Dorothy Dale Glenwood, when that day comes that I am forced to spurn the lines of the Social Swim, and you find me beyond the ropes, clinging helplessly to the tail-end of my former prestige, carried out with the great, surging tide of struggling humanity, then you will remember that I had attempted a correct debut, and it ended in a splash of Dale indignation!”

Somehow Tavia’s nonsense had a ring of reality to-day. Perhaps it was the narrow escape at the bridge that had tinted her pictures with such a serious tone—she seemed preoccupied, and gave her chatter in words contradicted by her voice and manner. It was some minutes before any one spoke. All appeared to be enjoying the “valedictory,” and presently Tavia, promising to “turn over a new leaf,” made a grab for a branch of a tree the auto just then passed under, and swished the foliage she captured until every leaf showed its silvery under-side against the deep blue sky. She laughed at her joke.

“Of course you know,” said Ned, as he swung the car into a cross-road that led to Glenwood, “mother expects you to come to North Birchland, with Dorothy, this summer, Tavia. We’ll try to make you comfortable—ahem! Nat has a brand new tandem, besides white duck duds to burn—”

“Nixy! To wear,” corrected his brother. “Mother says white ducks are economical for man—and beast.”

“Of course you’ll come with me, Tavia,” said Dorothy, noting instantly that her chum had not responded to the kind invitation that Nat had delivered for his mother.

“Perhaps,” replied Tavia, vaguely.

“Are you going to spend all your time at Dalton?” continued Dorothy, much puzzled at Tavia’s manner.

“Oh, no indeed,” answered Tavia, promptly this time, showing plainly, that she had other plans than those connected with her 

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