Then how that woman in black looked at Tavia when
they entered the train for home! She had to take the same train to get
back from town; that was easily understood, as few trains passed in and
out to the city, even in holiday time. But why did she sit opposite them
again?
And Tavia was sure she just wanted to confess--about the ring.
So Dorothy's thoughts ran riot, and her head ached proportionately.
Finally she heard Tavia steal into the room; felt she was looking down to
see if slumber had come; then, being satisfied that Dorothy was actually
asleep, she went out and turned the hall light very low.
Dorothy was asleep. She dreamed of everything--the superintendent's
office, of Miss Allen's sweet face, of how confused the other clerk
became--it was all perfectly clear yet so closely interwoven as to be
inextricable, after the manner of most feverish dreams.
It seemed she had been sleeping a long time when she heard whispering at
her door--or, rather, just outside the second door that led into Tavia's
room.
"But it was so foolish," she heard some one protest. "I wouldn't think it
so wrong as so foolish."
It was Nat's voice. Then she heard Tavia whisper:
"Hush! she might be awake!"
"I'd advise you to make a clean breast of it," insisted the other. "It is
bound to leak out some way."
"Not unless you tell," said Tavia.
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