AN EXCHANGE OF HEARTS
“Look who’s here,” and kindred expressions, with frank comments on her
idea and costume, greeted Betty at the beginning.
“There are some other ‘valentines,’ but none quite like yours,” said one
gypsy, who wore an arrow caught through her belt, a silver one in her
hair, and large red hearts sewed on her flowing sleeves.
Almost every one had on some emblem that recognized the day. Some of the
boys had made themselves into clever representations of comic
valentines, but Betty thought that Kathryn must have changed her mind
about being one, as she could not find among them all any of Kathryn’s
height. As to features, Betty had been sure that she could tell; but
among so many shifting figures it was confusing. In general, there was
the usual conglomeration of different characters.
Once Betty caught her breath at the appearance of a pirate, for all the
world like the “Pirate of Penzance.” But while the costume seemed
identical, so far as Betty remembered, after all, Marcella might have
lent the costume. And when the young man drew near, whoever it might be,
it certainly was not Larry. Well, of course. It had been silly to half
expect—and hope—to see him.
There were compensations, however. She did not lack attention and she
thought that she had been able to “fool” Chet, whom she had recognized
by his laugh first. Her own voice she kept low and had practiced on a
different laugh, though when amused she could not keep it up and
smothered her natural laugh with her handkerchief. Even that was gay
with hearts. She had seen it in a show window a week before and rushed
in to buy it.
Guessing who people were was great fun and Marcella had something
planned for every moment, it seemed. A tall clown announced the games,
or what came next in the way of program. He wore a placard on his back
that declared “I am Your Valentine.” That, certainly, could not be
Larry. His fun would be more—um—elusive!
And now some musicians arrived. Betty happened to glance out of the
window and saw them stamping snow from their feet and shaking the flakes
from their hats. Their taxi must have delivered them outside, instead of
bringing them around the drive inside the grounds, a natural mistake,
perhaps, since the distance to the street was not great. And how it was
snowing! Betty liked it, the beautiful dark and white rays from the
lights, near or distant.
Inside, some one relieved them of coats and hats at once, and the bulky
instruments in their cases were disposed about the hall, until they
disappeared while a last game was going on, only to take their places in
a palm-decorated corner near the piano, tune their instruments and start
to play. Instantly feet began to tap in time to the measures, and some
of the boys and girls began to dance in couples.
Betty’s feet fit snugly in the high-heeled shoes of her mother’s that
matched the costume. They were none too comfortable and Betty thankfully
sank into a big over-stuffed chair recently vacated, refusing an
invitation prettily and deciding to rest first. But one could stand
anything if it were fun, and when in a short time colonial square dances
were announced, lo and behold, who should walk up to Betty, with an
engaging, somehow familiar smile and an exaggerated, old time bow, but
the duplicate of the picture upon her valentine!
Dancing eyes through their opening in the mask enjoyed her amazement.
Velvet knee breeches, silk hose, shoes, powdered wig tied by a ribbon,
even to coloring, the likeness was complete.
This was no accident. He did not look like the others. Could it be?
“Oh!” she said in surprise, blushing under the bit of rouge and the tiny
square of courtplaster supposed to be characteristic of that time gone
by.
“Fair damsel,” said the stranger, “will you tread the mazes of the dance
with me?”
“With great pleasure, sir,” coquettishly replied Betty, recovering from
her astonishment and bethinking herself of her part.
She raised her fan, only to have it gently taken from her hand. “Permit
me,” said the colonial gentleman with great courtesy. He tucked her arm
in his own and walked with her to the space being cleared for them and
the others.
“I haven’t happened to see you before,” said Betty, to make
conversation.
“I have been about, but I did not come to the circle about Miss
Valentine till now.” Then the formality was dropped and the voice became
natural. “I came a long distance to dance this with you, Betty, though I
knew nothing of the Colonial dances. And I didn’t dream that you would
be wearing this costume—even to the lacy border in your hair, the rose,
and the heart that proclaims you my valentine!”
Betty said, “Oh,” again. “Then you are—and you sent——”
“Yes, I am, and I sent, and I’m going to keep those kids away from you
the rest of the evening, that clown with the hearts all over him in
particular.”
Betty laughed. She was recovering, and oh, how happy! “Why that’s only
Chet Dorrance. Why the dislike to him? Wasn’t he in all our fun last
summer?”
“Yes.” Larry Waite bent attentively toward Betty, fanning her in the
character of the old time gallant. Much could be said in the few moments
before the music should begin. Precious little attention did either of
them pay to the directions being given.
“But Marcella, at my _urgent request_, has fixed it up that I am to be
your partner at supper. I suddenly decided to come for this, though I
find that Father needs me on another matter and I must make the most of
this opportunity. I hope that you do not mind _very_ much, Betty!
“I am—surprised—and _pleased_, Larry. I had a shock when I saw the
costume of the Pirate of Penzance.”
The erstwhile Pirate of Penzance laughed. “I like you in this costume,
even better than I did when you were Titania. Tell me, Betty. Did you
think that perhaps I sent the valentine and could it have influenced you
to wear this?”
“Is this the game of ‘Truth,’ Larry?”
“Heaven knows I hope so!”
“I did think that you had sent the valentine and I thought it adorable.
But the idea of this costume was Mother’s, because, you see, she had had
it made for her own party, and I never dreamed of asking for it. Then
fixing it up this way like the valentines as much as I could, was my
doings.”
“Sweet doings, Betty.” Was Larry’s voice shaking a little?
“I have a million things to say to you, but they are going to strike up
the music now. Yes, we’re coming to line up!”
This last was in answer to a summons. Betty, demure and self-possessed,
took her place and the pretty mazes of the dance took her attention. But
she had learned it in “gym” and she saw that Larry was at home in it.
She was still somewhat thunderstruck. Was this the self-contained Larry
of last summer? Of course there had been times when she had had a look
from him, or—but _what_ could he be going to say to her?
There was no opportunity for private conversation now, though Larry with
a twinkle whispered as they performed an evolution of the dance
together, “How I wasted last summer!” He seemed to know her very
thoughts! Betty’s hands were cold and she was rather highly keyed all
through the dances.
But afterward Larry conducted her to where some one was beckoning them
and told her on the way that he would have to mingle with the guests a
little after all. “That’s Marcella beckoning. I know what she’s going to
tell me; but I shall have you at supper at least, and may I take you
home?”
Rather bewildered, yet decidedly radiant, Betty beamed upon Marcella,
who said, “Excuse me, but I have a message for your partner.”
“The dance is over and you may have him,” laughed Betty, next smiling up
at the clown with “hearts all over him,” who had taken pains to be at
hand. Betty saw that Larry observed the clown; but there was nothing to
be done except to be the same friendly girl to Chet that she had always
been. They had the remembrance of many a good time together between
them.
“I know you, Betty,” said Chet, “and I suppose you know me. Who is that
guy that was with you!”
“I may have my ideas, Chet, but it wouldn’t be fair to tell. _Is_ that
gypsy Kathryn? I thought she wouldn’t take such an obvious character.”
“Probably, since she is called Gypsy, that is the very reason she is
one, because she would not be expected to do the obvious.”
“I think that you have grown very wise, Chet, since you have been going
to the university. Tell me who some of these university girls are.
Marcella was going to invite some sophomores, I know, like your brother
Ted, and she is in that new sorority and would be likely to invite them
all, wouldn’t she?”
“I suppose so. But you said it wasn’t fair, Betty, to tell.” Chet was
looking humorously at her now.
“Now you have me! True enough. I’ll have to wait till the unmasking. But
guessing is all right.”
“Suppose _I_ do some guessing,” meaningly said Chet.
“Why not?” countered Betty; but fortunately for Betty’s not having to
respond to Chet’s surmises, one of the girls, a pretty shepherdess, came
up to look more closely at Betty’s costume.
“If I had only thought of it, I might have been a real valentine, too,”
regretfully said the shepherdess.
But events, the mingling, the talking, the varied entertainment arranged
by Marcella Waite and her assisting sorority, moved rapidly. Betty was
soon found by the colonial gentleman of her valentine, and formally
escorted to the dining-room, spacious, and accommodating, tables
arranged into one continuous and festal board, “like double T’s,” Betty
said. “Oh, _isn’t it pretty_!” she exclaimed softly to Larry.
From the hanging lights above ran ribbons, gay in color and abounding,
like everything else about the house, in appropriate decorations. The
place cards were especially pretty. Betty’s represented Cupid carrying a
cluster of hearts as well as his bow and quiver full of arrows. Below
him was the outline of a single heart and within this an individual
four-line “poem” ready for Betty’s reading:
“Sweet and pretty and dear and fine,
She’s a peach of a girl—Miss Valentine!
Let Eros whisper, as flies his dart,
‘Your lover is waiting and waits your heart.’”
Betty dimpled as she read, “I wonder if Marcella copied that or made it
up. It doesn’t sound like her.”
“It wouldn’t,” said Larry, who had been reading his own lines. “She
didn’t write them; but she did pretty well with mine in the hurry she
was tonight. See? It’s a prophecy, I hope. I’m not sure that Marcella
knows that Eros is the same as Cupid.”
“Larry Waite! Of course she does. But you haven’t _read_ mine yet, how
do you——”
Betty stopped, for Larry turned a mischievous look upon her, then
sobered. “I wasn’t in fun when I scribbled those lines, Betty,” said he.
But it was no place in which to embarrass Betty and he quickly placed
his own card before her. “Read what Marcella tells me,” and Betty read:
“If Cupid only has success,
You’re on your way to happiness.”
“Now I hope that is so,” said Larry lightly. “I’m quite content right
now.”
Others were doing the same thing, exchanging cards and reading funny or
clever or sugary verses, collected or composed by Marcella and her good
friends. Larry had insisted that Betty’s card match his own and in the
short time he gave to Marcella’s change of arrangements he had written
the verses.
Betty was past being surprised now and had entered into an exhilarated
stage of feeling in which the fun, the light and inconsequential
conversation, the lights, the decorations, the costumes, masks and
general gayety all played a part. And now, from the middle of the long
part of the table and almost opposite Betty, Marcella rose to announce
that they would unmask before the serving began.
Then came hilarity indeed, though properly restrained, for this was no
school picnic in the woods! Surprises and congratulations were the order
of the moment. The gypsy, with a clown in Lyon High colors, sat just
beyond Betty. “Why, Kathryn, I couldn’t tell you at all!” she exclaimed.
“Chet thought it was you, but I had my doubts.”
The clown with Kathryn was Brad Warren. Chet Dorrance, Betty saw, was
farther down on the opposite side of the table and she sighed with
relief, for Betty never wanted Chet’s feelings hurt. Marcella had placed
him with a senior at the university, one of her sorority sisters, and
Chet was evidently much interested and pleased. It was rather nattering
to be selected for a senior, and indeed, Marcella had known that Chet
Dorrance must not be placed with some one whom he would not like, no
matter what Larry wanted to do.
Mathilde’s diamond flashed directly opposite and with Jack Huxley in
gala mood, she, too, was happy and beamed on Betty with all the rest.
Mathilde was bright and entertaining, too, when she was out with her
friends. And Jack—well, he would be served with nothing here that would
make him unfit to see any one safely home. The ring seemed more
appropriate here than at school.
It was a great surprise to most that Larry Waite was there. He was
greeted with enthusiasm and played his part of host with cordiality, the
life of the party, Betty thought. More “grown-up” than so many, his fun
had some point to it, she thought, and Larry would have felt glad to
know her flattering opinion, which she was not to have much opportunity
to tell him, even supposing that she wanted to do so.
The idea of the day was carried out in the supper. Larry said that he
“didn’t know but it was cannibalistic” to eat so many hearts.
Heart-shaped sandwiches, salad in hearts—it was amazing how much in
that line could be done. The ice-cream servings, in fanciful molds, each
looked like a vari-colored and heart-shaped valentine, and little cakes,
in hearts, with “heavenly” frosting, were toothsome indeed.
Larry seemed to have an idea just as the ice-cream was arriving and said
something across the table to Marcella, who hopped up at once and
lightly clapped her hands together for attention.
“Larry says that the celebration will not be complete unless we exchange
hearts. So that is the next thing on the program. Who wants my heart?”
There was laughter and quick compliance. But Larry was already detaching
a heart from the little array which Betty wore and whispered, “That was
by way of an excuse to get one of these, Betty. Do you mind?”
“You may have them all, Larry,” laughed Betty, stirred, nevertheless.
Oh, this couldn’t be just his “line,” as she had once thought! He
_liked_ her. She knew he did.
“And where is the one I am supposed to have?” she asked, as Larry tucked
the little pink heart in his inner pocket.
“It’s beating not far away,” said Larry in her ear. But he detached a
small heart that had dangled from his lapel all evening and handed it to
her.
“No,” said she, “badge me with it.”
It all had to be with the air of badinage and fun, in the presence of so
many, but Larry, under cover of fastening his heart in the place of the
one he had detached, and under the louder buzz of conversation and the
laughter, spoke once more into her ear.
“You darling! I hope this means half as much to you as it does to me!” A
hand crept over hers in her lap and held it tightly for a long moment,
while Betty returned a slight pressure.
Then things were as they were before. Larry gave some attention, as he
had done before, to the university girl who sat on his other side. Betty
talked to Kathryn and Bradford, but she “felt like somebody else,” as
she confided to her diary the next day. An entirely new probability was
hers, and a new faith in Larry Waite.
But Larry did not take her home. After the supper he told her that as
soon as “they” began to go, he would be waiting for her and would take
her home in “the roadster.” But he had scarcely finished telling her
when Marcella came up and soberly said that a telegram had come for
their father and that he wanted to see Larry right away. With a brief
“Excuse me,” Larry hurried off, while Betty wondered why anybody would
send a telegram so late, unless it was a case of life or death! The
older Waites had disappeared not long after the guests had all been
received. Could they still be up?
The girls began to go up for their wraps and Betty went with them,
coming down to wait in the library, as he had told her. No one was
there, but she had only a few minutes to wait till he came in and closed
the door. “Betty! My plans to see you are all upset. Father has had a
business telegram, delayed, by good luck for me, and something has come
up which must be attended to. He can not go and I shall have to go for
him. A train leaves in half an hour. Marcella will arrange for your
getting home with the rest.
“I—I had something to tell you, Betty. You can guess what it is, of
course, though I was not going to ask you for a pledge so soon. But I
only wanted to make sure that no one else would—have your pledge,
before we had a chance to—become better acquainted.”
That was rather a lame close. Larry was trying not to say too much
either for his own sake or Betty’s, and Betty looked up archly at this
and smiled. “Yes,” said she, gravely, “and let us hope that our
friendship will improve on acquaintance.”
“Don’t tease me, please, Betty,” said Larry, but he relaxed into a
smile, too. “I’ll write you as soon as I can. Remember that you are my
valentine, Betty—and now I think you’ll let me say goodbye as I want
to!”
Before Betty knew it, she was caught in the embrace of a big soft
overcoat, hugged and kissed all in a moment, held a second while Larry
whispered a soft statement in her ear again; and then he turned and
rapidly left the room as he heard Marcella call “Larry” from without.
Oh, what a wonderful Valentine’s Day! Larry _loved_ her. He _said_ so.
_Larry!_