her out at the step, but as I glanced down I saw that the rain had left
a puddle of mud between the carriage and the walk.

"Pardon, Madam," I said; "allow me to make a light for you--the footing
is bad."

I lighted another lucifer, just as she hesitated at the step. She made
as though to put out her right foot, and withdrew it. Again she shifted,
and extended her left foot. I faintly saw proof that nature had carried
out her scheme of symmetry, and had not allowed wrist and arm to
forswear themselves! I saw also that this foot was clad in the daintiest
of white slippers, suitable enough as part of her ball costume, as I
doubted not was this she wore. She took my hand without hesitation, and
rested her weight upon the step--an adorable ankle now more frankly
revealed. The briefness of the lucifers was merciful or merciless, as
you like.

"A wide step, Madam; be careful," I suggested. But still she hesitated.

A laugh, half of annoyance, half of amusement, broke from her lips. As
the light flickered down, she made as though to take the step; then, as
luck would have it, a bit of her loose drapery, which was made in the
wide-skirted and much-hooped fashion of the time, caught at the hinge of
the carriage door. It was a chance glance, and not intent on my part,
but I saw that her other foot was stockinged, but not shod!

"I beg Madam's pardon," I said gravely, looking aside, "but she has
perhaps not noticed that her other slipper is lost in the carriage."

"Nonsense!" she said. "Allow me your hand across to the walk, please. It