Just then the doorbell rang and Gladys, who was sent to answer it, returned with a long box in her hand addressed to “Miss Dorothy Bradford.”
“From Foresters,” said Sahwah breathlessly.
“Flowers!” said Gladys. “Hurry and open them.”
The box disclosed a dozen, long-stemmed pink roses. “Oh! Ah!” echoed the four in unison.
“From—him?” asked Gladys.
“There’s no card in the box,” said Hinpoha, vainly searching.
“They must be from him,” said Gladys decidedly. “Wasn’t he in Forester’s this morning? And it seemed to me I heard him asking for pink roses.”
Hinpoha put the flowers in a tall vase and regarded them with rapture. They were the first flowers ever sent to her by a man. In them she found comfort for having to miss the dance.
“Was he there?” she inquired falteringly of Gladys, the day after the party.
Gladys answered in the affirmative. “Did—did any of you dance with him?” Hinpoha wanted to know further.