Pauline. No, but when one wants to send a lot it means a good deal, unless you are flush—and I never am.
Aunt P. Send a lot? What do you mean, my dear?
Pauline. Why, every fellow wants to send one to every pretty girl he knows, of course.
Aunt P. A Christmas card, perhaps, but a valentine! That should be for one only, my dear.
Pauline. How odd! Why, I sent twenty-five, myself, to the nice boys I knew.
Aunt P. Twenty-five! Oh, my dear! You didn’t!
Pauline. Sure I did! Why not? Is that the way they sent them in your day, Auntie? Seems to me they were rather narrow.
Aunt P. No, indeed, my dear, but a valentine meant something then. A young man sent but one, and that went to the lady of his choice. The girls did not send any. We would have thought it immodest. But girls do many things to-day that would not have been tolerated in my day. A girl, then, was supposed to be a lady.
Pauline. Instead of a madcap tomboy? Well, I plead guilty, and throw myself on the mercy of the court. I just love to be a tomboy, and I’m going to be one a long time yet. No “one valentine” sentiment for me, or one boy, either, for years to come.