Tavia got up at last and began to move about her room. “Aren’t you going to get up ever again, Doro?” she asked. “Doesn’t the inner man call for sustenance? Or even the outer man? I’m just crazy to see Garry Knapp and ask him how he came by my bag.” “Oh, Tavia! I wish you wouldn’t,” groaned Dorothy. “Wish I wouldn’t what?” demanded her friend, coming to her open door with a hairbrush in her hand and wielding it calmly. Dorothy “bit off” what she had intended to say. She could not bring herself to tell Tavia all that was in her mind. She fell back upon that “white fib” that seems first in the feminine mind when trouble portends: “I’ve _such_ a headache!” “Poor dear!” cried Tavia. “I should think you had. You ate scarcely any luncheon——” “Oh, don’t mention eating!” begged Dorothy, and she really found she did have a slight headache now that she had said so. “Don’t you want your dinner?” cried Tavia, in horror. “No, dear. Just let me lie here. You—you go down and eat. Perhaps I’ll have something light by and by.” “That’s what the Esquimau said when he ate the candle,” said Tavia, but without smiling. It was a habit with Tavia, this saying something funny when she was thinking of something entirely foreign to her remark. “You’re not going to be sick, are you, Doro?” she finally asked. “No, indeed, my dear.” “Well! you’ve acted funny all day.” “I don’t feel a bit funny,” groaned Dorothy. “Don’t make me talk—now.” So Tavia, who could be sympathetic when she chose, stole away and dressed quietly. She looked in at Dorothy when she was ready to go downstairs, and as her chum lay with her eyes closed Tavia went out without speaking. Garry Knapp was fidgeting in the lobby when Tavia stepped out of the car. His eye brightened—then clouded again. Tavia noticed it, and her conclusion bore out the thought she had evolved about Dorothy upstairs. “Oh, Mr. Knapp!” she cried, meeting him with both hands outstretched. “Tell me! How did you find my bag?” And Garry Knapp was impolite enough to put her question aside for the moment while he asked: “Where’s Miss Dale?” Two hours later Tavia returned to her chum. Garry walked out of the hotel with his face heavily clouded. “Just my luck! She’s a regular millionaire. Her folks have got more money than I’ll ever even _see_ if I beat out old Methuselah in age! And Miss Tavia says Miss Dale will be rich in her own right. Ah, Garry, old man! There’s a blank wall ahead of you. You can’t jump it in a hurry. You haven’t got the _spring_. And this little mess of money I may get for the old ranch won’t put me in Miss Dorothy Dale’s class—not by a million miles!” He walked away from the hotel, chewing on this thought as though it had a very, very bitter taste. CHAPTER VIII AND STILL DOROTHY IS NOT HAPPY “But what did he _say_?” demanded Dorothy, almost wildly, sitting up in bed at Tavia’s first announcement. “I want to know what he _said_!”