"We'll try not to be curious, and I suppose that you wouldn't let us bribe Angelina to tell us."
"Oh, no'm; no, indeed. Miss Angelina," and Gretchen turned to Angelina, who was standing near, "if you tell we'll never—never—"
"Oh, I'm not afraid."
"We'll never call you Miss Angelina again—just plain Angelina."
"I wouldn't stand being called 'plain Angelina,'" said Miss South, patting Angelina's shoulder as she passed by.
Now for a week or two there was much secrecy, much whispering, many hours spent in the gymnasium at times when the rules about exercising did not require the girls to be there. Snippings of bright-colored paper were found in the hall, and not only bits of paper but of colored cambric; and Julia, and Nora when she came to the cooking-class, and all the other older persons interested in the Mansion, professed to be entirely mystified by what was going on.
But at last the eventful fourteenth of February arrived, and all the guests had assembled in the dining-room. The little stage had been set up, and the audience awaited the performance with great interest. Each girl, as before, had been permitted to invite two guests, and a number of boys and men were present,—brothers, cousins, uncles, and an occasional father, and the women relatives were out in full force.
Angelina's sister had come in from Shiloh to spend a day or two, and she was doorkeeper in Angelina's place. As the guests went to their places, each one was given a heart-shaped card, the edges gilded, to which was attached by a pink cord a small pencil shaped like an arrow.
"Evidently we are to keep some kind of a score," said Nora, "but what it is to be I cannot imagine."
"Nor I," responded Brenda; "I haven't been taken into the secret, but I know that it is to be something exciting."