The girls sought carefully for some clue of the sender, but the sweet perfume wafted from the roses was all that rewarded their search.
“Whoever it was, he is a dear!” said Polly, fondly touching the waxen stems.
“And we’ll try to keep them as long as possible so, whoever it was, will see that we appreciate the flowers,” said Anne, going for water.
“At last I have found a use for that tall vase I bought that first week of auctions,” laughed Eleanor, taking the glass from under the window-seat.
Scarcely were the roses arranged to satisfy the admiring group, when the bell rang again. Eleanor being nearest the door, ran out to the small vestibule and peeped through the window in the street-door.
“Well, of all things! Another messenger. Maybe he has a valentine for me.”
The door was opened, Eleanor said “yes” to his query if Mrs. Stewart lived there, and having signed the book, hurried in with a tier of boxes. There were four in all.
“Miss Anne Stewart the first on top,” read Polly.
The second was for Mrs. Stewart, and the third for Polly, the last being Eleanor’s. Each box contained a beautiful spray of cut flowers but no card. Not even a suggestion of the sender.
“Well, it beats all. Why couldn’t our admirers have sent our flowers in the morning,” laughed Anne.