name. There must be plenty of Valentines."

"Sure there are, lace paper and Cupids--lots of that sort. But there's
only one Harold Valentine, and now you've got him pinned to the wall!
I'll tell you what I'll do, Barbara. I'm a real friend of yours. Always
have been. Always will be. The chances are against the Familey letting
him get this letter. I'll give it to him."

"GIVE it to him?"

"Why, he's here. You know that, don't you? He's in town over the
holadays."

"Oh, no!" I said in a gasping Voice.

"Sorry," he said. "Probably meant it as a surprize to you. Yes, he's
here, with bells on."

He then put the letter in his pocket before my very eyes, and sat down
on the corner of the writing table!

"You don't know how all this has releived my mind," he said. "The poor
chap's been looking down. Not interested in anything. Of course this
explains it. He' s the sort to take Love hard. At college he took
everything hard--like to have died once with German meazles."

He picked up a book, and the charred picture was underneath. He pounced
on it. "Pounced" is exactly the right word.

"Hello!" he said. "Familey again, I suppose. Yes, it's Hal, all right.