It was so curt and cool that
Ben gave a low whistle of surprise when he received it.
"I shall never ask _her_ to go anywhere again!" was his mental
comment, as he tossed the note into the fire.
All the rest of the week Alida stayed in her room as much as possible.
Phil Bently's speech so rankled in her mind that she could take no
pleasure in anything, not even in the making of May's costume, in
which all the family were interested. It was an odd affair--a white
silk gown dotted with red hearts and bordered with dozens of
old-fashioned lace-paper valentines, with their bright array of
cupids and doves and flowers; and to May it was most becoming.
"Where did you ever get all the things to put on it?" asked her father
as she slowly revolved before him the night of the party.
"Oh, I saved them as an Indian brave does his scalp-locks," she
answered. "They were sent to me ages ago, before I left the nursery. I
had them all packed away, and had forgotten them until I began
planning this costume. I wonder if Charley Jarvis will recognise that
row, or Phil Bently remember when he sent this. They were barely out
of the kindergarten then."
The judge looked at the trophies with an amused smile. "I remember
sending valentines to your mother once upon a time. It is too bad the
custom is dying out.
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