“True? What?”
“Did Sên King-lo send you flowers?”
Miss Gilbert in her surprise nearly let the new delicate blouse fall upon the schoolroom floor.
“Who ever told you that?” she demanded.
“Nobody. I heard him myself, heard him order them. I’m almost sure it was your name he gave, you he told the man to send them to. Tom went to talk up Belle’s wedding bouquet—she’s got such a temper, you know, there’d be the devil to pay—right in the church, perhaps—if it wasn’t just exactly as she told Tom to have it made, so he didn’t dare order it over the ’phone or by writing, and he was no end embarrassed, plumb afraid to go alone—so I had to tag along. Well, when Sên King-lo came in, I was mighty glad I had. Say! he knew what he wanted, just how many, just which sort, and about the leaves, and the box; he picked out the box, just a plain white one, ‘nothing fancy,’ and no ribbons. I hoped he’d stop and talk a bit, but he only took off his hat and kept it off—My! isn’t his hair smooth—and Tom was so fidgety I couldn’t make the running myself. If I hadn’t held on to his coat, he’d have bolted and cut out of the store. But I did hear Sên King-lo order violets, and I’ll believe to my dying day it was you he told the clerk to send them to. Was it? Ivy Gilbert, did Sên King-lo send you violets? Tell us this minute!”
“Is that what brought you here?” asked Ivy.
“You bet it is!” Lucille exclaimed. And Molly added, “And you can bet big!”
“Did he?” Lucille begged. “Ivy, did he?”
“Yes, he did,” Ivy said chillingly.
“Oh!” Lucille cried. “Ivy—how perfectly scrumptious! How heavenly!”