"BAB A SUB-DEB" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rinehart Mary Roberts)

_I hope that soon we can arrange_
_To run away and marry."_

The last verse did not scan, exactly, but I wished to use
the word "marry" if possible. It would show, I felt, that things
were really serious and impending. A love affair is only a love
affair, but Marriage is Marriage, and the end of everything.
It was at that moment, 10 o'clock, that the Strange Thing
occurred which did not seem strange at all at the time, but
which developed into so great a mystery later on. Which was to
actualy threaten my reason and which, flying on winged feet, was
to send me back here to school the day after Christmas and put
my seed pearl necklace in the safe deposit vault. Which was very
unfair, for what had my necklace to do with it? And just now,
when I need comfort, it--the necklace--would help to releive my
exile.
Hannah brought me in a cup of hot milk, with a Valentine's
malted milk tablet dissolved in it.
As I stirred it around, it occurred to me that Valentine
would be a good name for Harold. On the spot I named him Harold
Valentine, and I wrote the name on the envelope that had the
poem inside, and addressed it to the town where this school gets
its mail.
It looked well written out. "Valentine," also, is a word
that naturaly connects itself with affairs _de cour_. And I felt
that I was safe, for as there was no Harold Valentine, he could
not call for the letter at the post office, and would therefore
not be able to cause me any trouble, under any circumstances.
And, furthermore. I knew that Hannah would not mail the letter
anyhow, but would give it to mother. So, even if there was a
Harold Valentine, he would never get it.
Comforted by these reflections, I drank my malted milk,
ignorant of the fact that Destiny, "which never swerves, nor
yields to men the helm"--Emerson, was stocking at my heels.
Between sips, as the expression goes, I addressed the
envelope to Harold Valentine, and gave it to Hannah. She went
out the front door with it, as I had expected, but I watched
from a window, and she turned right around and went in the area
way. So _that_ was all right.
It had worked like a Charm. I could tear my hair now when
I think how well it worked. I ought to have been suspicious for
that very reason. When things go very well with me at the start,
it is a sure sign that they are going to blow up eventualy.
Mother and Sis slept late the next morning, and I went out
stealthily and did some shopping. First I bought myself a bunch
of violets, with a white rose in the center, and I printed on
the card:
"My love is like a white, white rose. H." And sent it to
myself.
It was deception, I acknowledge, but having put my hand to