Consequently Miss Morton's maid received the paquet with a sympathetick reverence learnt in long morning dreams when the sunlight splashed the walls of her garret in waves and ripples of faint gold.
"Any name, your honour?" she asked.
"I believe not."
"And no message?" she paused in bright-eyed hope of an assignation which was to be the first step in the softening of her mistress' hard and imperious little heart.
"None at all so far as I know, my dear," and Mr. Lovely passed on down the deserted street towards the meadows.
The little maid stood on the steps regarding him.
"Tes a Valentoine surely," she thought, and held the envelope between her and the discoverer sun. A red heart glowed through the paper, a red heart pierced by a flaming arrow.
"And who'd ha' thought she had a bow and her be so spoitful."
She sighed as she gazed after Mr. Lovely.
"He do look proper and happy surely."