“I won’t talk like that any more.  But, do you know, I thought I had found you, and you turned out to be somebody else.”

“But I can’t be anybody else.  I’m only myself.”

“Be serious a minute, won’t you?  I went to my cousin’s and met a beautiful, poppy-cheeked princess; but she wasn’t you.”

“How do you know she wasn’t?”

“Because she couldn’t sing a little bit!  And you can.”

“I can sing a little bit!  Oh, thank you!”

“Now, I want to ask you something.  You know my cousin, don’t you?”

“Have you sisters and cousins, whom you reckon up by dozens?”

“It doesn’t matter if I have.  I mean my cousin, Marie Homer, to whom you telephoned, or tried to, on the fourteenth of February.  But you got me, instead, and that means we’re each other’s valentine.  See?”

“No, I don’t see at all.  I only like pretty valentines.”

“Oh, I’m as pretty as a picture!  That part is all right.  Now, I’ve tried my best to find out who you are, from Marie.  But either she can’t or won’t tell.  But I’ve found out one thing, for certain.  You’re not Miss Farrington.”

“No, I’m not; but I never said I was.”

“I know you didn’t, but you told me you were a pretty brunette, with poppy cheeks,—­and Miss Farrington is that.”

“Did I tell you I was pretty?  Oh, I’m sure I didn’t!”

“You didn’t have to.  I know that myself.  Now, if you’ll keep still a minute, I’D like to speak.”

“If I can’t talk, I may as well hang up this receiver, for I’m sure I don’t want to sit here and listen to you.”

“Chatterbox!  Now, listen; Marie is having a musicale next Friday night, and I want you to come.”

“Without an invitation!” Patty’s voice sounded horrified.

“Yes;” impatiently.  “Marie would invite you fast enough if she knew who you were.”

“Perhaps she has invited me.”

“No, she hasn’t; I saw her list.  It’s a small party, not more than twenty.  And I asked her about each one, and not one of the ladies seemed to correspond to your description.”

“Who’s going to sing?” asked Patty, calmly.

“Only two ladies; a Miss Curtiss and a Miss Fairfield.”

“Perhaps I’m one of those.”

“No; I asked Marie, and she says Miss Fairfield is a pretty little blonde, and Miss Curtiss is a tall, brown-haired young woman.”

“Don’t you know either of these ladies?”

“No; that is, I’ve never seen Miss Curtiss, but Marie says I met Miss Fairfield one day, for a moment.”

“Don’t you remember her?”

“Hardly; she seemed an insignificant little thing.”

“Pretty?”

“How do I know!  She was all wrapped up in motor togs, and acted like a gawky schoolgirl.”

“She did!  Why, I know that Fairfield girl, and she isn’t gawky a bit!  She’s a fascinating blonde.”