"I wish you were here to have the fun of the French evenings, three times a week. You speak it so beautifully, Mr. Ford says, and I thank you so much for all the help you gave me in teaching me. Mr. Ford speaks it very well, too, so Miss Alton says. We all meet at our house once a week on March's account, and then one evening in the week, Miss Alton and I (she 's lovely) go over to the Fords' for music. He has sent for some lovely songs for me--old English ones, and we're going to have a little celebration for March's birthday in May. How I wish you were to be here!
"March is lying on the settle, dreaming over that exquisite photograph of Cologne Cathedral you sent him; I've just asked him if he had any messages for you, and he smiled--oh, it's so good to see his dear smile again! You can't think how tall he's grown since his illness, and he's so thin--and said, 'I sent one to her this morning myself; she can't have two a day.' But you know March's ways.
"Now I must stop; Mr. Ford is coming over on horseback and I am riding Bob now. I wear an old riding-habit of Martie's--it fits fine! I have more to tell you, but will finish after I get back from the ride--there comes Mr. Ford--"
This letter Hazel duly forwarded to her cousin. "He 'll know by what she says in it that she really was pleased, for all she acted so queer," she said to herself as she enclosed it in one to Jack, in which she took special pains to inform him that he had never told her whether he had given those verses Rose sang to Miss Seaton.
"I told Rose I was sure they were for Miss Seaton, and Rose said she did n't mind copying them herself for you if you wished them. Do tell me if you gave them to her. I told Rose your valentine to her last year was a rose-heart. I hope you don't mind my telling, for, you know, Jack, all our family think you are engaged to her--"
Jack dropped Hazel's letter at this point and gave a decided groan.
"What luck!" he muttered. "It's all up with the whole thing now. No girl of any spirit would stand all that--and Hazel meddling so! thinking she is doing her level best to explain matters;--What an ass I was to send that flower-valentine to Maude--and she thinks I gave her those verses! and there 's this Ford skulking round and having it all his own way; he 's just the kind a girl would care for--those musical cranks are no end sentimental. Hang it all!"
Jack thrust his hands deep into his pockets, took several decided turns up and down the room, squared his shoulders, pursed his lips, cut his two classroom lectures, ordered up Little Shaver and rode out to the polo grounds, where, finding himself alone, he put the little fellow through his best paces, ignoring the fact that snow and ice wore on the pony's nerves--and had a game out to himself.
When just two months had passed, he received a note from Rose, his first, and it was accorded the reception due to first notes in particular. After this, Jack developed certain wiles of diplomacy, he had thus far, in his various experiences, held in abeyance. He wrote sympathetic notes to Mrs. Blossom; commissioned Chi to find him another polo pony--Morgan, if possible--among the Green Hills; sent March a set of illustrated books on architecture, and complained to Doctor Heath of a pain that racked his chest; at which the Doctor's eyes twinkled. He said he would examine him later, but he was convinced it was heart trouble, the symptoms were apt to mislead and confuse. He added gravely: "Too much hard polo riding, Jack; get away into the country--mountains if you can, and you 'll recuperate fast enough. I 'll make an examination in the fall."
Jack obeyed to the letter, and what a month of September that was!