"And yet, Janet," said her guardian, fixing his eyes sternly on her, "it is from Heathcote himself that I have just heard the suggestion that his hand-writing has been counterfeited; he most strongly and utterly denies that he has ever written verses to you."
"I am concerned," said Janet, "that Heathcote should show himself not only deficient in honor and kindness, but in common truth and honesty. You, however, my dear sir, who have so long known me, will not, I am sure, feel a moment's hesitation in believing my statement in preference to his."
Mr. Chetwode did not speak, but he regarded Janet with a look by no means indicative of the perfect trust which she had anticipated. She burst into tears.
At this moment Philippa entered, radiant with beauty, health, and happiness, having just parted from her lover at the door. She stood astonished at the scene that met her eyes.
"Philippa," said Mr. Chetwode, gravely, "you will be sorry to hear that you must either think very ill of a favorite friend, or of a pleasant acquaintance. A circumstance has arisen, trifling in itself, but involving the veracity either of Janet or of Heathcote; she avers that a few weeks ago he wrote verses to her, containing a declaration of love; he denies that he did any such thing."
Philippa turned very pale, and sat down in silence.
"On what occasion were these verses written?" said Mr. Chetwode, turning to Janet with a predetermined air of disbelief in the reality of them.
"They were entitled," said Janet, "'A valentine, to be read when the others are forgotten.'"
"A valentine!" repeated Mr. Chetwode, indignantly; "and is it possible that the verses of which you speak as containing an avowal of affection, almost amounting to a promise of marriage, were nothing but a valentine? and have I been induced, by your misrepresentations, to reprove and lecture a young man for adding one to the many chartered blockheads who commit fooleries to paper on Valentine's Day? I no longer doubt your truth, Janet; but I have serious doubts of your sanity. You, Philippa, also," he added, turning to her, "have been much to blame; you know more of the world than Janet; why did you let her make herself so ridiculous as she has been pleased to do?"
"Do not censure Philippa," said Janet; "my sorrows have been all of my own making: she repeatedly told me that I affixed far too much consequence to so trifling a mark of attention as a valentine."