“Edwin’s; he had it done for my birthday; nifty, isn’t it?... You didn’t give me anything, miser.”
“Little girls shouldn’t wear men’s fraternity pins,” he scolded gently.
“Oui, mon père.”
“‘Mon père’—ugh! That’s wicked of you, to remind me of my years.... But you know about the custom, don’t you?”
“Tell me.”
“Oh, perhaps it doesn’t always count. In my ‘frat’ it’s a pretty serious crime, punishable by drinking a quart of quashia-water, to give your emblem to anyone but the lady. It’s the old, ancient ‘token’ over again; love is blind and lovers are dumb; the token given and the token received is the time-honored language of a contract begun.... But there! That’s all nonsense.... Of course, you can wear it without any significance at all. You’re hardly old enough to contemplate an engagement.”
“Don’t you be too sure, Mr. Professor,” she hummed wisely as she strolled away to bid farewell to her guests.
Edwin was sauntering by. She whistled a private signal which brought him swiftly about with an “Aye! aye! sir!” “Don’t forget, you’re to stay till the rest have gone,” she whispered quite audibly.
“Not your Uncle Dudley,” Edwin responded cheerily.