NO CINDERELLA
A flock of young persons came in noisily, but happily they contented themselves with the bowl of lemon-punch at the other end of the conservatory.
I sat down in the Roman chair which stood at the side of the window-seat. I balanced the slipper on the palm of my hand. Funny, isn't it, how much a woman will put up with rather than walk about in her stockings. And I wasn't even sure that she had lost a slipper! I wondered, too, where all her dancing partners were.
"You say you do not know me," I began. "Let me see,"—narrowing my eyes as one does who attempts to recall a dim and shadowy past. "Didn't you
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