"I never saw him so
cross."
"I did not notice it," said Roland, touching the bell at the door of The
Cedars. "I thought him in the best of spirits."
"Of course, it was simply an accident," added Dorothy. "How he felt could
have had nothing to do with it."
"Well, everything seems queer," declared Tavia. "I just wonder how it will
all turn out."
"That must depend entirely upon ourselves," insisted the practical
Dorothy. "But we will have trouble in getting some one to take Ned's
place-- Oh, dear, if I had only--but there's no use lamenting." And when
Roland said good-night at the door Dorothy went directly to her own
room--she was too much depressed to join the family's expression of
anxieties.
The queer holidays were surely nearing a climax.
CHAPTER XVIII
DOROTHY'S DISTRESS
Complication upon complication!
Dorothy could scarcely think--she was stunned, bewildered.
The thought of Ned's disapproval of Tom's attention to her seemed the most
bitter thought of all.
She did love Ned, her own cousin. How could any girl not appreciate the
joy of being a cousin to Ned White?
And that he should misunderstand her! Think her frivolous, and even accuse
her of flirting!
Dorothy felt that even The Cedars now belonged to Ned, and she, with her
father and brothers, were merely his guests.
How ever could she make him understand?
Why are girls neither women nor children in all the troublesome "between"
years?
Then Tavia's troubles.
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