“Valentines,” she said briskly, ostentatiously turning to show him the silk handkerchief. She thrust it under his nose. “Smell how good,” she said.
“Who’s that from?” he replied, without smelling.
“It’s a valentine,” she cried. “How do I know who it’s from?”
“I’ll bet you know,” he said.
“Ted!—I don’t!” she cried, beginning to shake her head, then stopping because of the ear-rings.
He stood still a moment, displeased.
“They’ve no right to send you valentines, now,” he said.
“Ted!—Why not? You’re not jealous, are you? I haven’t the least idea who it’s from. Look—there’s my initial”—she pointed with an emphatic finger at the heliotrope embroidery—
“E for Elsie,
Nice little gelsie,”
she sang.