Polly spoke eagerly, and her eyes shone as she beheld her friends enjoying the Brewster hospitality.
Everyone laughed at her anxiety to have them visit her, and Mr. Dalken promised: “I’ll do my best to bring my friends, Polly.”
A quizzical look in his eyes suddenly caused Polly to remember the valentine she had sent him. She smiled back at him, but as suddenly another thought flashed into her mind.
“Oh, Mr. Dalken, I’ve wanted to ask you for the longest time! Now that it is ancient history, you won’t mind confessing, will you?”
Mr. Dalken shook his head as a concession to her eager look. And Polly continued: “Did you send me those American Beauties’ valentine?”
A roar greeted this question, as everyone of the grown-ups had asked the same question of Mr. Dalken months before. And Mr. Dalken not only repudiated any knowledge of the valentine but told how he had visited the florist and had not been able to ascertain who the Cupid really was.
“Polly, I will confess, as they say that open confession is good for the soul. I was guilty of sending four boxes of flowers to the Studio on Valentine Day, to four charming friends, but I showed no partiality, I think, in the bouquets. I would like to know, myself, who the Cupid was who sent such gorgeous roses as you received.”
“I wonder! I’m sure it wasn’t Jim,” here Polly looked searchingly at the young student, and he shook his head laughingly.
“I couldn’t have, had I wanted to. My pocket money went for that love-sonnet that was so harshly condemned,” said he.
“And I’m sure Ken never dreamed of doing it. Then there is Mr. Latimer and the doctor—they are both innocent, I know, as they never think of anything other than the old patented jewel cutter.”