“Right you are, Jeanette,” she replied; “I did send you that, because I knew you’d love that landscape with the blue trees and green sky.”
“It isn’t that way!” cried Jeanette. “You needn’t make fun of my prettiest valentine of all—or nearly,” she added, with a funny little smile.
Betty was mystified, but said nothing, but after the others had gone and only Jeanette and Dorothy remained, she said, unable longer to restrain her curiosity:
“Whatever is the matter with you, Jeanette? I never saw you so gay and festive.”
“Indeed, I should think I would be!” exclaimed Jeanette. “I waited till the others had gone, to tell you. Girls, I’m going to the reception!”
“You are!” cried Dorothy. “How perfectly lovely!” And Betty said: “Oh, Jeanette, I’m so glad!”
“How did you happen to change your mind?” asked Dorothy.
“Oh, I had a dress for a valentine! The loveliest dress you ever saw! It’s just a dream! All filmy chiffon, and the darlingest little pink rosebuds, and exquisite lace—oh!”
“A valentine!” cried Dorothy, and Betty said eagerly: “Who sent it?”
“I don’t know,” said Jeanette, turning her eyes on Betty, so honestly ignorant that Betty knew she didn’t suspect in the least. “I’ve no idea. It came in the most beautiful box, all fixed up like a lovely big valentine, and the sweetest verse, all written out. I never saw the handwriting before, and I can’t imagine—I haven’t the least idea—who sent it to me.”