Something more than a mist was gathering in her eyes now.  Two big tears were almost ready to fall when the door opened and Mrs. MacIntyre came in.  In Virginia’s eyes she was the most beautiful grandmother any one ever had.  She was not so tall as her daughter Allison, and in that respect fell short of the little girl’s ideal, but her hair, white as snow, curled around her face in the same soft, pretty fashion, and by every refined feature she showed her kinship to the aristocratic old faces which looked down from the family portraits in the hall.

“I couldn’t be as stately and dignified as she is if I practised a thousand years,” thought Virginia, scrambling up from the pile of cushions to roll a chair nearer the fire.  As she did so, her heel caught in the rug, and she fell back in an awkward little heap.

“The more haste, the less grace, my dear,” said her grandmother, kindly, thanking her for the proffered chair.  Virginia blushed, wondering why she always appeared so awkward in her grandmother’s presence.  She envied the boys because they never seemed embarrassed or ill at ease before her.

While she was picking up her valentines the boys came in.  If two of the cavalier ancestors had stepped down from their portrait frames just then, they could not have come into the room in a more charming manner than Malcolm and Keith.  Their faces were shining, their linen spotless, and they came up to kiss their grandmother’s cheek with an old-time courtliness that delighted her.

“I am sure that there are no more perfect gentlemen in all Kentucky than my two little lads,” she said, fondly, with an approving pat of Keith’s hand as she held him a moment.

Virginia, who had seen them half an hour before, tousled and dirty, and had been arrayed against them in more than one hot quarrel where they had been anything but chivalrous, let slip a faintly whistled “cuckoo!”

The boys darted a quick glance in her direction, but she was bending over the valentines with a very serious face, which never changed its expression till her Aunt Allison came in and the boys began their apologies for not meeting her at the train.  Their only excuse was that they had forgotten all about it.

Virginia spelled on her fingers:  “I dare you to tell what made your faces so black!” Keith’s only answer was to thrust his tongue out at her behind his grandmother’s back.  Then he ran to hold the door open for the ladies to pass out to dinner, with all the grace of a young Chesterfield.

When dinner was over and they were back in the library, Miss Allison opened a box of tiny heart-shaped envelopes, and began addressing them.  As she took up her pen she said, merrily:  “Now you may tell our secret, Virginia.”