"Cinderella," she mused. She nestled her feet, and looked thoughtfully at her delicate hands. I could see she was at that instant recalling the picture of Cinderella and the ash-heap. "What was the prince's name?" "In this case it is just a prince of good fellows." "I should like some witnesses." She gazed at me curiously, but there was no distrust in her limpid eye, as clear and moteless as Widow Wadman's. "Isn't it fine," I cried with a burst of confidence, "to possess the courage to speak to strangers?" "It is equally courageous to listen," was the retort. "I knew I should like you!"--with enthusiasm. She stirred uneasily. It might have been that her foot had suddenly grown chilled. A storm was whirling outside, and the pale, shadowy flakes of snow brushed the windows. I approached her, held up the slipper and contemplated it with wrinkled brow. She watched me covertly. What a slipper! So small and dainty was it, so light and airy, that had I suddenly withdrawn my hand I verily believe it would have floated. It was part satin and part skin, and the light, striking the inner side of it, permeated it with a faint, rosy glow. "What a darling thing it is!"--unable to repress my honest admiration. "Light as one of those snowflakes out yonder in the night. What a proud arch the instep has! Ah, but it is a high-bred shoe, fit to tread on the heart of any man. Lovely atom!" She stirred again. I went on: "It might really belong to a princess, but only in a fairy-book; for all the princesses I have ever seen couldn't put a hand in a shoe like this, much less a foot. And when I declare to you, upon my honor, that I have met various princesses in my time, you will appreciate the compliment I pay to Cinderella." The smile on her lips wavered and trembled, like a puff of wind on placid water, and was gone. "Leave it," she said, melting, "and be gone." "I couldn't. It wouldn't be gallant at all, don't you know. The prince himself put the slipper on Cinderella." "But this is a modern instance, and a prosaic world. Men are no longer gallants, but business men or club gossips; and you do not look like a business man." "I never belonged to a club in my life." "You do not look quite so unpopular as all that." A witty woman! To be pretty and witty at the same time--the gifts of Minerva and Venus in lavishment! "Besides, it is all very improper," she added. "The shoe?" I cried. "No; the shoe is proper enough." "You admit it, then!"--joyfully. "I refer to the dialogue between two persons who have not been introduced." "Convention! Formality! Detestable things, always setting Romance at arm's length, and making Truth desire to wear fashionable clothes." "Nevertheless, this is improper," she repeated.