"I have seen slippers in the woods myself," said Leslie. "I think the
conservatory will do, so they shall go there right now. I have to be fair
to 'Minnie.'"

"Let me carry them for you," offered Douglas, arising.

"'Scuse us. Back in a second, Daddy," said Leslie. "I am interested,
excited and eager to make the test, yet in a sense I do not like it."

"But why?" asked Douglas.

"Can't you see?" countered Leslie.

"No," said Douglas.

"It's shifting my sense of possession," explained the girl. "The slippers
are no longer my beautiful gift from you. They are perishable things that
belong to an Indian squaw. In justice to her, I have to keep them in
perfect condition so that my work may not surpass hers with the
unspeakable art of flower freshness; while instead of thinking them the
loveliest thing in the world, I will now lie awake half the night, no
doubt, studying what I can possibly find that is more beautiful."

Douglas Bruce opened his slow lips, taking a step in her direction.

"Dinner is served," announced her father. He looked inquiringly toward his
daughter. She turned to Douglas.

"Unless you have a previous engagement, you will dine with us, won't you?"
she asked.