Bobby. Helen don’t think so. She’s awful spoony on Mr. Philip Etheridge Tuttle.
Mrs. W. That will do, Bobby. Don’t be vulgar.
Louise. Well, he always walks to the corner with her, and to-night he didn’t. He came with Evvie.
Bobby. Came after her, you mean, trotting behind like a little poodle-dog whose missis goes too fast for him, and she and Helen have been fighting ever since.
Helen. Well, she knew he liked me, and she’s always pretended not to like him, and he’s always thought she was pretty, and so, when she sent him the valentine——
Evelyn. When she sent him nothing! If he tags me to-morrow I’ll tie a blue ribbon on his neck, and hitch it to a little chain, and lead him round like a nice little toy dog. You see if I don’t!
Helen. Just to show every girl in the school that you’ve captured him! Well, I’ll see that they know how you did it.
Evelyn. I’m about tired of being told I—twist the truth.
Helen. I’d say it stronger, if Mother’d let me. You may think it, instead. I saw you address that envelope this morning, and you refused to let me see the name—you know you did!
Evelyn. Well, so did you. What was the matter with the one you sent him, I wonder?