"Devilish snug little foot! Was it a danseuse?"

"No," returned Lynde freezingly.

"An actress?"

"No," said Lynde, taking the slipper from Preston's hand and gently
setting it back on the writing-table. "It was not an actress; and yet
she played a role--in a blacker tragedy than any you ever saw on the
stage."

"Lynde, I beg your pardon. I spoke thoughtlessly, supposing it a light
matter, don't you see?"

"There was no offence," said Lynde, hiding his subtile hurt.

"It was stupid in me," said Preston the next night, relating the
incident to Miss Bowlsby. "I never once thought it might be a thing
connected with the memory of his mother or sister, don't you see? I took
it for a half sentimental souvenir of some flirtation."

"Mr. Lynde's mother died when he was a child, and he never had a
sister," said Miss Bowlsby thoughtfully. "I shouldn't wonder," she added
irrelevantly, after a pause.

"At what, Miss Mildred?"

"At anything!"