" Roland certainly looked diminutive
enough to fit into a pint pot, and also seemed qualified to do as he might
be told with the drum.
Finally all was arranged, or rearranged, and the hour for the play was
almost at hand.
No more delightful weather could have been wished for. It was clear and
cold, while outside a big silvery moon threw a fairy-like illumination
over the scene, and filtered in through the big windows of the
drawing-room of the home of Mrs. Justin Brownlie.
Dorothy laughed her light, happy laugh. After all, perhaps everything
would come out right--it was such a relief to feel that Ned would soon be
better. The worry about him was the very worst part of her troubles. Then,
suddenly, like the recurrence of an unpleasant dream, the thought of Tom's
midnight visit flashed before her mind.
"Oh, I didn't tell you, Tavia," she said quickly. "I had the awfullest
scare the other night. I just stole downstairs to see how Ned was, when
all at once some one rapped at the vestibule door."
Tavia gazed upon Dorothy, pride and admiration beaming in her deep, hazel
eyes.
"Oh, you needn't tell me, Doro," she interrupted. "I saw the midnight
marauder, as the poets say. Lucky for him he stood directly under the
light."
"Wasn't it--wasn't it kind of him to be--so--so anxious?" went on Dorothy,
making fast her scarf picking up her pretty party-bag.
Pages:
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144