Jon returned from the flower shop and set the small boquet, wrapped in a lace doily and tied with ribbon on his desk. Satin flowers for sincerity, forsynthia for anticipation and white Heather, which was lightly whimsical, but stood for wishes coming true. He closed the flower dictionary he had and set it aside now that he had what he wanted to say spelled out in the blooms on his desk.
Pulling out a drawer, he took out one of the buff calling cards his mother had had printed for him before he left. Turning the card over, he wrote in neat script.
Mr. Simoneaux,
I would be honored if you would care to receive me at Four o'clock in the afternoon this Saturday. I will make arrangements for a Chaperone.