“Did you—did you send me those slippers that I’m wearing?”
“What makes you think so?”
“The little clog on the back of my programme. It’s the exact fac-simile of one I used to wear.”
“I had a little story as near as possible to that of Ally Krimjo. For one morning there was found in the middle of my hall a little garden clog without owner or companion. It came there through barred doors and spring-barred doors, and none could make out how it came there. Not even I. I never learnt it till the night when you came to say your lesson. I proved it when you wore these little satin-covered skates to-night.”
“You’ll give it back to me?”
“Oh, no! I’m keeping it for luck. That is a lovely stone you’re wearing.”
“It’s one I told you of. Dug from the garden with a great big fork and spade, just as a man digs.”
“I believe I’ve seen it before in my father’s house.”
“No, indeed. Unless your father was the Governor I spoke of.”
He laughed.