the scent--a scent hauntingly familiar, yet baffling in its relation to
gowns. A poorly made gown, Katie noted, but effective. She tried to read
the story, but could not read beyond the fact that there was a story. The
pink satin slippers had broken heels and were stained and soaked. They
had traveled ground never meant for them. Something about Ann made one
feel she was not the girl to be walking about in satin slippers.
Something had happened. She had been dressed for one thing and then had
done another thing. Could it be that ever since the night before she had
been out of her place in the scheme of things?--loosened from the great
human unit?--seeking destruction, perhaps, because she could not regain
her place therein? "Where have you been?" Katie murmured to the ruined
slippers. "What did it? What do you know? What did you want?"

Many a pair of just such slippers she had danced to the verge of
shabbiness. To her they were associated with hops, the gayest of music
and lightest of laughter, brilliant crowds in flower-scented rooms,
dancing and flirtation--the froth and bubble of life. But something
sterner than waxed floors had wrought the havoc here. How much of life's
ground all unknown to her had these poor little slippers trodden? Was it
often like that?--that the things created for the fun and the joy found
the paths of tragedy?

She had put them away and was at last going to bed when she idly picked
up the evening paper. What she saw was that the Daisey-Maisey Opera
Company was playing at the city across the river. Something made her
stand there very still. Could it be--? Might it not be--?

She did not know. Would she ever know?

It drew her back to the girl's room. She was sleeping serenely. With