XIX.
A Tear.
"Good Heavens!" said I to him one day, "three times have I told you to buy me a brush. What a head the fellow has!" He answered not a word; nor had he the evening before made any reply to a like expostulation. "This is very odd," I thought to myself, "he is generally so very particular."
"Well, go and get a duster to wipe my shoes with," I said angrily. While he was on his way, I regretted that I had spoken so sharply, and my anger entirely subsided when I saw how carefully he tried to remove the dust from my shoes without touching my stockings. "What," I said to myself, "are there then men who brush
