“Do you care if I take these to my room, Betty?”
“I’d much rather, Mother—but don’t let anything happen to them!” Betty was smiling a little now. The moment had been a little awkward.
“I understand. And may I speak of it to Father? He’ll probably not want to read the letters.”
“Say anything you want to Father, if he will keep it to himself, you know. You see it is really not all fixed up.”
“Depend on me to manage it,” said Mrs. Lee, taking her daughter in her arms for an especial good night, yet leaving the room with a frown of anxiety. Betty was too young. But she turned to say, “Betty, I shall make it a point to become acquainted with this young man. We shall invite him around.” And Betty, selecting her “nightie” from a hook in her closet, looked around the open closet door to say, “All right, Mamma. Goodnight.”
The situation did not seem so distressing, however, after the letters were read. There would be nothing immediate. Mrs. Lee smiled at more than one point, but Betty could safely trust her letters to her mother. She was not one to take humorously or lightly what was earnest in young love. This seemed to be a sensible young man, carrying more responsibility than most at his age, and sufficiently older than Betty. She decided to tell Mr. Lee at some later date, when he was not so tired. The lad was coming home, they would soon have an opportunity to judge for themselves.
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Commencement was held in the school auditorium, though so many were the demands for tickets that it had been considered taking the seniors to one of the city’s larger platforms. That Betty was excited with all the accompanying glories, is scarcely necessary to mention. Presents from dear friends, little gifts exchanged with the girls, the new white frock, flowers from “The Dorrances,” flowers also from “Arthur and Archie,” the Penrose boys, gave Betty little ecstasies at different times, when they arrived or were presented.
Larry Waite had written that he would be there. Betty saw to it that there should be a ticket for him, and that she gave to Marcella, with earnest adjurations that it should not be lost.
“Don’t worry, Betty,” said Marcella. “I’ll see that he gets it. It will not go with the letter where the lost pins go!”