she had gone through the making-up process.

But school would soon be over—and then—

For some time Dorothy had been putting off a talk she desired to have with Tavia—a talk about their vacation plans. Somehow she dreaded to undertake the topic that Tavia had been so obviously avoiding. But to-night Dorothy felt that she must have an understanding—she must know where her room-mate intended to spend her vacation.

Dorothy was just about to broach the subject when Tavia suddenly turned to her with this surprising question:

“Dorothy, do you think I’m pretty?”

“Why, of course you are,” stammered Dorothy. “You know I have always thought you—pretty.”

“But I do not mean what you always thought, Doro. I am awfully serious now. Am I really pretty?”

“I don’t know,” replied her chum. “I could not tell what others might think—but I have always thought you the prettiest kind of a girl—you know that.”

“But do you think that in—in a crowd I might be considered—attractive? Are my features good? Do I look—look interesting?”

This was said with such apparent simplicity that Dorothy almost laughed. There stood a pretty girl—without question a remarkably pretty girl—of a most unusual type—and she was begging for a compliment—no, for an opinion of her personality!

Dorothy did not answer. She could not possibly say that at that moment Tavia was a perfect vision, as she stood in her white robe, with her freshly-brushed hair framing the outline of her sweet, young face. But the girl before the mirror wanted to know.

“Dorothy, do tell me,” she begged. “What do you think? Am I pretty, or not?”

“Tavia,” exclaimed Dorothy suddenly, “tell me, why do you want to know?”

“Why,” and Tavia laughed a little to gain time, “I think any girl ought to know just—what she is like.”

“But all this—this fussing. Why do you do it?”

“To experiment,” and Tavia laughed lightly. “They say one can do wonders with a little care. I am tired of reading that in the magazines so I thought I would just try it.” She had finished with the glycerine and rose water now, so the “stuffs” were put away and Tavia sank down with a “glad-of-it” sigh.

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