xclaimed the lady, overcome with horror.
"Rouge! What _are_ you saying, and what _are_ young girls coming to! At
your age, I'd never heard the word, no, indeed. And, besides, my love,
it is indecorous of you to address me as 'Lydia.' I am your mother's
sister, remember."

Her charge giggled joyously. "Nobody would believe it, never in the
world! You aren't one day older than I am, not a day. If you were, you
wouldn't care whether it was mauve or pink--nor flirt in the
conservatories."

"You're teasing me!" was Mrs. Mellows' belated exclamation. "And, my
dear, I don't think it _quite_ nice, really."

The insistent call of the telephone arrested the conversation. Dorothy
took up the receiver, and Aunt Lydia became all attention.

"Hello!--Oh, it's you again--I thought I rang off--Oh, really--no, I'm
not!"

"Who is it?" questioned Aunt Lydia in a sibilant whisper.

Dorothy went on talking, carefully refraining from any mention of names.
"Yes--did you?--that's awfully kind--yes, I love violets; no, they
haven't come, by messenger--how extravagant! No, I'm not going out
_just_ yet--not in this get up. What color? Pink--_and_ a lace cap--a
duck of a lace cap. Send the photographs around--Oh, _that's_ all right;
Aunt Lydia is here--aren't you, Aunt Lydia?--Oh, oh--what a horrid
word!--unsay it at once! All right, you're forgiven. I'm busy _all_
day--_all, all_ day--yes, and this evening. No, orchids won't go with my
gown to-night--don't be silly--of course, gardenias go with everything,
but--now, what nonsense!--I'm going to hang up--Indeed, I _will_.
Good-b--what? Now, listen to me--"

A tap at the door, and Aunt Lydia, hypnotized as she was by the
telephone conversation, had presence of mind enough to open the door and
receive a square box tied with purple ribbon. She dexterously untied the
loose bow knot, and withdrew from its tissue wrappings, a fragrant
bouquet of violets. An envelope enclosing a card fell to the floor. With
suppleness hardly to be expected from one of her years, she stooped to
pick it up, and in a twinkling had the donor's name before her.

Dorothy hung up the receiver and turned. "So you know who sent the
flowers, and who was on the 'phone," she laughed. "Tante, you should
have been a detective--you really should."

"How can you!" almost wept Mrs. Mellows. "I only opened it to save you
the trouble. Of course, I knew all along that it was Teddy Mahr--I
guessed--why not? Really, Dorothy, you mi