going by with transfigured faces, stopped.

"Let's tell Dominie," said Julien.

I waved a jaunty hand. "I know already," said I, "even if it hadn't been
announced to a waiting world."

"Wh-wh-why," stammered Bobbie with a blush worth a man's waiting a
lifetime to see, "it--it only just happened."

"Bless your dear, innocent hearts, both of you! It's been happening for
weeks. Come with me."

I lead them to the sidewalk fronting Thornsen's Élite Restaurant. There
stood Peter Quick Banta, admiring his latest masterpiece of imaginative
symbolism. It represented a love-bird of eagle size holding in its
powerful beak a scroll with a wreath of forget-me-nots on one end and of
orange-blossoms on the other, encircling respectively the initials.
"J.T." and "R.H." Below, in no less than four colors, ran the legend,
"Cupid's Token."

"O Lord! Dad!" cried the horrified Julien, scuffing it out with frantic
feet. "How long has this been there?"

"What're you doing? Leave it be!" cried the anguished artist. "It's been
there since noon."

"Never mind," put in Bobbie softly; "it's very pretty and tasteful even
though it is a little precipitate. But how"--she turned the lovely and
puzzled inquiry of her eyes upon the symbolist--"how did you know?"