“Everybody loves Cousin Imogene,” Harriot declared. “You just can’t help it, you know.” “The boys as well as the girls,” April laughed; “so look out for your beaux, Dorothea.” “Do not believe all that they say, my dear,” Miss Imogene protested with the very faintest of becoming blushes. “They love to tease their old cousin. And now let me see the finery you have brought from the outside world.” She was soon hovering over the silks and satins and fine linen Dorothea spread out for them to admire. “Ah,” murmured Miss Imogene, holding a gay flowered muslin in her dainty fingers, “I wore a dress made of a material quite like that when Larry Stanchfield gave his celebrated supper. You remember, ’Thenia.” “Indeed I do,” Mrs. May answered with a knowing glance at the other. “And I remember his toast ‘To the fairest of all dark women! Fairer than any blonde.’” “Do you really recollect that?” murmured Miss Imogene. “Yes, my dear, and I know whose slipper he drank it out of,” Mrs. May continued. “It was a very gay party and not one to be forgotten.” “But the dresses were cut very differently in those days,” Miss Imogene said, a little hurriedly, almost as if she wished to change the subject. “But whose slipper was it?” demanded the inquisitive Harriot. “Cousin Imogene’s, of course,” April responded, laughing. “Is that true?” Harriot insisted. “Yes, honey,” Miss Imogene replied. “I dropped it as I was getting into our coach when we went home after the Militia Ball. Dear me, how long ago that seems!” “And didn’t you ever get it back?” Harriot questioned. “No, not that one, but the next day a little glass slipper came, filled with sweet hearts,” Miss Imogene answered with the most charming of smiles. “We’ve seen it on your dressing-table!” the two girls cried delightedly. “Yes, that is the very one,” Miss Imogene confessed. “And there was a bit of verse with it. Let’s see if I remember it.” She looked up at the ceiling a moment, her eyes half closed as if she could see there the picture she brought back in her mind. “Ah, now I know. It went like this: ‘Accept, fair lady, in exchange For one I hold, This crystal slipper filled with hearts From one made bold By Cupid, who alas, can find no shoe to fit Which will contain the hearts that seek a place in it.’ “It is rather pretty, don’t you think?” she ended, appealing to them all with the gentlest of smiles. “I think it’s beautiful,” said Dorothea enthusiastically. Already she was growing to love this strange lady who, while she was quick to realize the present, seemed also to be dwelling in the past. “But who sent it, Cousin Imogene?” demanded the inquisitive Harriot. “Harry,” said her mother rather sharply, “don’t ask so many questions.”