This heart is also brak in twain,
And like to burst with grief and pain
To think I'll see thee ne'er again."
"H'm! He might have signed 'Robbie Burns' at the end of it!" commented Gowan. "Seems to take it for granted I'm doing half of the grieving. No, thanks! I prefer to 'flout them' like Phillida. He may go away with his old broken heart if he likes. That's not my idea of a valentine."
"There were bad valentines as well as good ones, weren't there?" twinkled Dulcie.
"Certainly; and if I set this down to you, perhaps I'll not be far out. Who comes next? Oh! Bertha.
"TO BERTHA
"I have a little heart to let,
As nice as nice can be;
It's vacant just at present,
On a yearly tenancy.
It's quite completely furnished
With affection's choicest store,
Sweet nothings by the bushel,
And kisses by the score.
It sadly wants a tenant,
This little heart of mine,
So I beg that you will take it,
And be my Valentine!"
"Edith! Dulcie! Phillida!—Oh! I can't guess!" laughed Bertha. "There's not the least clue! Go on, Gowan! I'll plump for Phillida."
The next on the list was—
"TO NOREEN
"Cupid on his rosy wing
Flits to offer you a ring:
Take it, dear, and happy make
One who'd die for your sweet sake!"
"That's the sugary type again, and suggests a cracker!" decided Noreen. "You feel there ought to be a big dish of trifle somewhere near."
"I wish there were!" chirped Edith. "You haven't guessed yet!"
"Oh, well, I guess you!"
"I hope it's my turn next," said Prissie.
"No, it happens to be Dulcie," retorted Gowan. "You'll probably be the last of all.
"TO DULCIE
"Oh, lady fair from Cheverley Chase,
The day when first I saw your face
Put me in such a fearful flutter
I could do naught but moan and mutter.
Whether I'm standing on my head,
Or if I'm on my heels instead,
I scarce can tell, for Cupid's arrows
Have made my brain like any sparrow's.
When you come near, my foolish heart
Goes pit-a-pat with throb and start,
And when I try my love to utter,
My fairest speech is but a stutter.
How to propose is all my task,
Whether to write or just to ask,
And ere I solve the problem knotty
I really fear I shall go dotty.
Oh, lady fair, in pity stop
And list while I the question pop.
'Tis here on paper; think it over,
And let me be your humble lover."
"Quite the longest of them all!" smiled Dulcie complacently.
"But not as poetical as mine!" contended Noreen.
"Oh, go on!" said Edith. "I'm sure I'm next!"
And so she was.
"TO EDITH
"Maiden of the swan-like neck,
I am at your call and beck;
If you will but wave a finger,
In your neighborhood I'll linger,
Praise your eyes, and cheeks of roses,
Bring you presents of sweet posies,
Sweetheart, if you will be mine,
Let me be your Valentine!"
"I haven't got a swan neck! It's no longer than other people's, I'm sure!" protested Edith indignantly, looking round the circle for the offender. "Who wrote such stuff?"
"There, don't get excited, child!" soothed Gowan. "'Edith of the Swan Neck' was a historical character. Don't you remember? She ought to have married King Harold, only she didn't, somehow. It's meant as a compliment, no doubt!"
"I believe you wrote it yourself!"
"No, I didn't. At least I mustn't tell just yet. I'm going to read the last one now.
"TO PRISSIE
"I am not sentimental, please,
I cannot write in rhyme,
I beg you'll all ecstatics leave
Until another time.
"But if I'm lacking in romance,
At least my heart is true,
And in its own prosaic way,
It only beats for you.
"'Mong damsels all I think you are
The nicest little Missie,
And beg to have for Valentine
That sweetest maid, Miss Prissie."
"Author! Author!" cried Prissie. "It's Lilias, I do believe!"
"Guessing's been horribly wrong!" said Gowan. "Only about one of you was right. Shall I read the list?
"To Phillida by Dulcie.
To Lilias by Noreen.
To Gowan by myself.
To Bertha by Phillida.
To Noreen by Prissie.
To Dulcie by Bertha.
To Edith by Lilias.
To Prissie by Edith."
"So you wrote your own, Gowan! What a humbug you are! You quite put us off the scent!"
"Well, I drew my own name, you see. I had to write something! Bertha ought to have a prize for guessing right, only we've nothing to give her. Shall we play something else?"
"Prissie's brought a pack of cards, and she says she'll tell our fortunes," proclaimed Edith.
"I learnt how in the holidays," confessed Prissie. "A girl was staying with us who had a book about it. We used to have ripping fun every evening over it. Whose fortune shall I tell first? Oh, don't all speak at once! Look here, you'd better each cut, and the lowest shall win."
Dulcie, who turned up an ace, was the lucky one, and was therefore elected as the first to consult the oracle. By Prissie's orders she shuffled the cards, then handed them back to the sorceress, who laid them out face upward in rows, and after a few moments' meditation began her prophecies.
"You're fair, and therefore the Queen of Diamonds is your representative card—all the luck's behind you instead of facing you. I see a disappointment and great changes. A dark woman is coming into your life. She's connected somehow with money, but there are hearts behind her. You'll take a journey by land, and find trouble and perplexity."
"Haven't you anything nicer to tell me than that?" pouted Dulcie. "Who's the dark woman?"
"She seems to be a relation, by the way the cards are placed."
"I