There was a long white glove, which he reverently unfolded and placed at the further edge of the table-top; there was a bunch of faded flowers, the dried petals of which fell softly onto the white glove in spite of the delicacy of his handling; there was a yellowed envelope, from which he drew a brief note, read it word by word, shook his head sadly, replaced the note in its covering, and laid the envelope tenderly on the table beside its fellow-exhibits. A piece of pink ribbon followed the envelope, and then--fie! Monty Huntington! where did you get it?--then came a pink satin slipper; and the exhibition was complete. The showman seemed well satisfied with what he saw before him, for he reached across to his smoking-table and found as if by instinct a well-burnt brier pipe, with stem of albatross wing, which he filled with his own mixture of Arcady and puffed contentedly, his eyes fixed upon the exhibits. Then the dim, flickering light and the incense of the tobacco accomplished their transmogrification. No longer was he William Montgomery Huntington, lawyer, man of affairs, director, trustee and--bachelor; he was Monty Huntington, senior in Harvard College, back in his rooms in Beck after his Senior Dance, stricken by the darts of that roguish Cupid who shot his shafts from the soft tulle folds of the gown worn that night by this same Marian, the casual mention of whose name even now caused him to forget his age and position and the dignity demanded in a bachelor of forty-five. The cloud of fragrant smoke concealed the fact that the long white glove was empty now; the flickering light made golden the words of the brief note which thanked him for the evening which his escort had made so wonderful a memory in a young girl's heart; the faded flowers were things of color and fragrance, more sweetly redolent because they had risen and fallen with her breath of life; the pink ribbon seemed to have a dance-card at one end and to be tied to a graceful wrist at the other; and the slipper--yes, the slipper--the dreamer smiled as he recalled the fleeting figure which flew up the brownstone steps behind her chaperon when he had last seen her, in playful fearfulness because he had managed to whisper in her ear that she was the sweetest, dearest, most bewitching maiden he had ever seen. The slipper had dropped off, and remained in his possession by right of capture since the owner would not come outside the door to claim her own.