"that's her. And I've never shown it to a
soul before--not even to my wife."

"A--a sweet expression. Fair, was she?"

"Fair as a lily, and as pure, and as beautiful. Gentle as a dove. With
blue eyes."

Guthrie did not care for this type just now. He liked them dark and
flashing and spirited, like Miss Deborah. But he murmured "Hm-m-m"
sympathetically.

"The loveliest woman in England," the old man maundered on. "Surely you
must have heard of her, in the family?"

Guthrie had not only heard of her, as we know, he had seen her; but he
shook a denying head, and dropped another hint of his own position in
the family--outside the royal enclosure, as it were.

"Well, now, I'll just tell you what happened," said Mr Pennycuick,
turning to the open drawer again. "Strictly between ourselves, of
course--and only because you are a Carey, you understand--somehow you
bring it all back--"

He was fumbling with the big valentine, getting it out of its case.

"Yes?" Guthrie encouraged him, while inwardly chafing to be gone.

"You see this?" It was an exquisite structure of foamy paper lace,
silver doves, gauzed-winged Cupids, transfixed hearts and wreaths of
flowers, miraculously delicate. How it had kept its frail form intact
for the many years of its age was a wonder to behold. "You see this?"
said the old man. "Well, when I was a young fellow, the 14th of
February was a time, I can tell you! You fellows nowadays, you don't
know what fun is, nor how to go a-courting, nor anything.... I was at
old Redford that year, and she was at Wellwood, and all through the
sleet and snow I rode there after dark, tied my horse to a tree, crept
up that nut-walk--you know it?--and round by the east terrace to the
porch, and laid my valentine on the door-step, and clanged the bell,
and hid behind the yew-fence till the man came out to get it. Then I
went home. And last thing at night there was a clatter-clatter at the
door at Redford, and I dashed out to catch whoever it was--her brother
she sent--but wasn't quite smart enough. If only I'd seen him. I should
have known--as I ought to have, without that; but I didn't. It never
occurred to me that she'd send the answer so soon, and she had
disguised her writing in the address, and there was another girl--name
of Myrtle Vining--who used to have myrtle on her note-paper, and all
over the place--and here these flowers looked to me as if they were
meant for myrtle, and these two crossed arrows a