re light evening gowns, for which the black coats of the men made a
most effective background; while the odor of violets and roses from the
great bunches that many of the girls carried strengthened the illusion.

"Jove, but this is a pretty thing!" murmured Jack, who had never been in
Harding before. "Is this all college?"

"Yes," said Betty proudly, "except the men, of course. And don't they
all look lovely?"

"Who--the men?" asked Jack. Then he gave a sudden start. "Bob
Winchester, by all that's wonderful!"

"Who is he?" said Betty idly. "Another Harvard man? Jack"--with sudden
interest, as she recognized the name--"what did you mean by that
postscript?"

"Good bluff!" said Jack in his most tantalizing drawl.

"Jack Burgess, I expect you to talk sense the rest of the time you're
here," remonstrated Betty impatiently.

"Well, I will on one condition. Tell me why you sent it to him."

"Sent what to whom?" demanded Betty.

"Oh come," coaxed Jack. "You know what I mean. Why did you send Bob that
valentine? It almost crushed me, I can tell you, when I hadn't even
heard from you for months."

Betty was staring at him blankly, "Why did I send 'Bob' that valentine?
Who please tell me is 'Bob'?"

"Robert M. Winchester, Harvard, 19--. Eats at my club. Is sitting at the
present moment on the other side of the aisle, two rows up and over by
the boxes. You'll know him by his pretty blush. He's rattled--he didn't
think I'd see him."

"Well?" said Betty.

"Well?" repeated Jack.

"I never saw Mr. Robert M. Winchester before," declared Betty with
dignity, "and of course I didn't send him any valentine. What are you
driving at, Jack Burgess?"

Jack smiled benignly down at her. "But I saw it," he insisted. "Do you
think I don't know your handwriting? The verses weren't yours, unless
they turn out spring poets amazingly fast up here, but the writing was,
except that on the envelope, and the Cupids were. The design was the
same as the one on the picture frame you gave me last winter. Beginning
to remember?" he inquired with an exasperating chuckle.

"No," said Betty severely. Then a light broke over her face. "Oh yes, of
course, I made that. Oh Jack Burgess, how perfectly rich!"

"Don't think so myself, but Bobbie will. You see I told him that I could
put up a good guess who sent him that valentine, and that I'd find out
for sure when I came up. But evidently he couldn't wait, so he's made
his sister ask him up too,