Surely the scene was mirth-provoking. Dorothy in her pretty blue robe, Tavia with her hair loose, collar off and shoes unlaced, and Miss Higley, prim as ever, in her brown mohair, with the long black cord on her glasses. There the three sat, sipping tea and “making eyes,”—“too full for utterance,” as Tavia would say.
“Such lovely tea,” Dorothy managed to gulp out at the risk of allowing her mouth to get loose in a titter, once the tight line of silence was broken.
Then, all at once they stopped drinking—some one was coming down the hall. Miss Higley arose instantly. The gentle tap on the door was answered by Tavia.
“Oh,” she apologized, “I did not mean to disturb a little social tea. Do sit down, Honorah,” to Miss Higley. “I’m very glad to see you enjoying yourself,” and Mrs. Pangborn meant what she said.
“Oh, indeed, I merely came to administer to a sick girl. Octavia was suddenly taken with cramps.”
“But that cup of tea has made me feel so much better,” declared Dorothy’s room-mate, with that kind of truth that mere words make—the kind that challenges falsehood.
“I am always glad to see you looking after the girls, Honorah,” went on the principal, “but I am equally glad to see you consider yourself. I’m sure you have a perfect right to take a cup of tea here. My dear,” to Dorothy, “perhaps you have a sip left?”
Dorothy found there was another cup of the beverage, still warm in the little teapot, and this she poured into her own pink and white china cup for Mrs. Pangborn.
Miss Higley remained standing, seemingly too abashed to move.
“Do finish yours,” said Tavia, pushing the empty chair toward the embarrassed teacher.
But Tavia’s mirth showed through her alleged illness, and Miss Higley began to feel that she had been imposed upon.
“If you—if you will excuse me,” she stammered.
“Oh, do finish your tea,” begged Mrs. Pangborn, and so the severe little teacher was obliged to sit down again.
An hour later Tavia was still trying to “untwist her kinks,” as she described her attacks of muffled laughter.
“Oh, wasn’t it gloriotious!” she exclaimed. “To think I couldn’t get a single twinge in my entire system! If I only could put that sort of a cramp in alcohol, wouldn’t it be an heirloom to Glenwood!”