The Heels of Her.





Passing down Commercial-street one fine day, I observed a lady
standing alone in the middle of the sidewalk, with no obvious
business there, but with apparently no intention of going on. She
was outwardly very calm, and seemed at first glance to be lost in
some serene philosophical meditation. A closer examination, however,
revealed a peculiar restlessness of attitude, and a barely
noticeable uneasiness of expression. The conviction came upon me
that the lady was in distress, and as delicately as possible I
inquired of her if such were not the case, intimating at the same
time that I should esteem it a great favour to be permitted to do
something. The lady smiled blandly and replied that she was merely
waiting for a gentleman. It was tolerably evident that I was not
required, and with a stammered apology I hastened away, passed clear
around the block, came up behind her, and took up a position on a
dry-goods box; it lacked an hour to dinner time, and I had leisure.
The lady maintained her attitude, but with momently increasing
impatience, which found expression in singular wave-like undulations
of her lithe figure, and an occasional unmistakeable contortion.