"
Burns.
Carter Brooks ambled into the room just as I sealed it and
stood gazing down at me.
"You're quite a Person these days, Bab," he said. "I
suppose all the customary Xmas kisses are being saved this year
for what's his name."
"I don't understand you."
"For Harold. You know, Bab, I think I could bear up better
if his name wasn't Harold."
"I don't see how it concerns you," I responded.
"Don't you? With me crazy about you for lo, these many
years! First as a baby, then as a sub-sub-deb, and now as a
sub-deb. Next year, when you are a real Debutante----"
"You've concealed your infatuation bravely."
"It's been eating me inside. A green and yellow
melancholly--hello! A letter to him!"
"Why, so it is," I said in a scornfull tone.
He picked it up, and looked at it. Then he started and
stared at me.
"No!" he said. "It isn't possible! It isn't old Valentine!"
Positively, my knees got cold. I never had such a shock.
"It--it certainly is Harold Valentine," I said feebly.
"Old Hal!" he muttered. "Well, who would have thought it!
And not a word to me about it, the secretive old duffer!" He
held out his hand to me.
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