“Please don’t even suggest it again,” she laughed.  “I wish the mystery could be cleared up.”

The sender’s name was discovered earlier than they had thought possible.

Two days afterwards, Polly rushed in, her face alight, her eyes shining.  “Oh, Miss Nita!” she began, and then stopped, suddenly realizing that Mrs. Winslow Teed and Miss Crilly were in the room.

“I didn’t know—­I thought maybe—­you’d go with me to call on Miss Lily—­Doodles said—­Doodles is in a hurry for me to go,” she ended lamely.

Juanita Sterling, amused at the sudden transition, had caught a flash of triumph in Polly’s eye and wondered with a fluttering heart what she had come to announce.

“Why can’t we go, too?” cried Miss Crilly.

“Miss Lily looks like a refined, cultured person,” remarked Mrs. Winslow Teed.

“Oh, Doodles says she is lovely!” Polly had recovered her equilibrium.

The latest comer at the June Holiday Home received her visitors with shy courtesy.  Miss Crilly and Polly soon relieved her of any embarrassment she may have felt, and talk went on blithely.

Several smiling glances thrown across the room by Polly put Miss Sterling’s mind in confusion.  They might signify much or nothing, yet she found herself missing what was being said around her in wild conjecture as to their meaning.  She wanted to carry Polly upstairs with her.  Finally she rose to go, and Polly said good-bye, too, in accordance with Miss Sterling’s hope.

They went along the corridor together.  Polly squeezing her companion’s arm with little chuckles of delight.

“You can’t guess what I’ve got to tell you!” she broke out, as soon as they were at a safe distance from Miss Lily’s room.

“Sh!” cautioned the other.  Talk above a whisper was forbidden in the halls.

“Oh, I’m always forgetting!” breathed Polly.

Once inside the third-floor room the little woman was seized by a pair of eager arms and whirled round and round.

“He did send them!  He did!  He did!  Now what do you think!”

Miss Sterling went suddenly limp and dropped into a chair.

“You don’t know—­for certain?” she cried.  “I do!  Mr. Randolph sent you those roses—­both boxes!”

The woman felt the flame in her face and turned quickly on pretense of searching for something in her sewing-basket.  She was so long about it that Polly began to complain.

“You don’t care very much, seems to me!  I thought you’d be just as glad as I am!”

“Why, I am glad to find out who sent them, dear, as glad as can be!  But I may as well be sewing on these buttons while you are talking.  Now, tell me how you found out—­I’m dying to know!” she laughed.