"I wonder they should," went on Pink, talking in prose now, for valentines can speak in prose and in rhyme equally well. "You are such a chilly color. Now I warm people. They smile when they see me. I like that. It is sweet to give pleasure."
"I like to give pleasure, too," said Blue, modestly. "And I hope I may, for something beautiful is written inside me."
"What? oh! what?" cried Pink.
"I cannot say," sighed Blue. "How can one tell what is inside one? But I know it is something sweet, because
She who sent me here
Is so very fair and dear."
Blue was running into rhyme again, as valentines will.
"I don't believe a word of it," said Pink, digging her sharp elbow into Blue's smooth side. "Nothing is written inside me, and I'm glad of it. I am too beautiful to be written on. In the middle of my page is a picture, Cupid, with roses and doves. Oh, so fine! There is a border too, wreaths of flowers, flowers of all colors, and a motto, 'Be mine.' Be mine! What can be better than that? Have you got flowers and 'Be mine' inside, you conceited thing? If not, say so, and be ashamed, as you deserve to be."
Again the pink elbow dented Blue's smooth envelope.
But Blue only shook her head softly, and made no answer. Pink grew angry at this. She caught Blue with her little teeth of mucilage and shook her viciously.
"Speak," she said. "I hate your stuck-up, shut-up people. Speak!"