“Chiffon?”
“Yes, with lace here and there, and cunning little ribbon bows, and knots of velvet, or something fancy-like for evening.”
“Well, we’ll go together to select it.”
“To-morrow afternoon, after school?”
“Yes, or next day. Of course you won’t send it until Saturday?”
“No; but we have to fix it up valentine-y, you know, so we’d better go to-morrow. Then we must write the verse. Mother, won’t you make up the verse? I don’t want a ‘Roses red, violets blue’ sort of a one.”
“Very well; skip back to bed, and I’ll see what I can do in the poetry line.”
“Oh, you dear Mother! You are so sweet!” And with a final, rather smothering embrace, Betty said good night, and ran back to her bed to dream of valentines and Longfellow and Jeanette, all in a grand jumble.
It was hard next day to say nothing of her plan to Dorothy, but Mrs. McGuire had decided if it were to be successful it must be kept absolutely secret. So not even Jack was told about it, and, after luncheon, Mrs. McGuire and Betty started off to buy the frock. Mrs. McGuire had slight misgivings about it all, but she determined to try the experiment, for it was the only way that the thing could possibly be accomplished, and she felt very sorry for Jeanette. After looking at several pretty, girlish dresses, they decided upon a lovely one of cream-white chiffon, made over white silk. It had a soft lace bertha, bordered with a wreath of tiny pink rosebuds. It was a simple, dainty little gown, but very effective, and Betty agreed that it would suit Jeanette perfectly.
The saleswoman was asked to provide an especially nice box, and Betty examined it herself, to be sure that the corners were unbroken.