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.

CHAPTER V AN UNTIMELY LETTER

AN UNTIMELY LETTER

For three days after that eventful night Tavia was obliged to keep to her room. She had a fever—from a cold the doctor thought—nothing contagious he was positive—but, as a precautionary measure Dorothy was given another room, until the fever should be entirely broken.

But the two friends were not to be separated much longer, for Tavia had quite recovered now, and was up and about her room, receiving notes and flowers from the girls, and recuperating generally.

“The first good rest I’ve had in months,” Tavia told Dorothy, as they sat together again on the little window seat, looking out on the tennis court.

“I do really believe you look better than you did before you were taken ill,” agreed Dorothy, giving her friend a look of unmistakable admiration.

“That’s lucky for me,” Tavia replied with something that sounded like a sigh.

“Why?” asked Dorothy in some surprise.

“Oh, nothing,” was the answer, given rather evasively. “But a girl can’t afford to get scrawny. Fancy yourself slinking down like a cornstalk in the fall! Why, even the unapproachable Dorothy Dale could not well stand the slinking process, to say nothing of an ordinary gawk like me going 

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