"Do you know the hostess?"—with solemn eyes.
"Oh, yes; though she hasn't the slightest recollection of me. But that's perfectly natural. At affairs like this the hostess recalls familiarly to her mind only those who sat at her dinner-table earlier in the evening. All other invitations are paid obligations."
"You possess some discernment, at least."
"Thank you."
"But I wish I knew precisely what you are about,"—her eyes growing critical in their examination.
"I am seeking Cinderella," once more holding out the slipper. Then I looked at my watch. "It is not yet twelve o'clock."
"You are, of course, a guest here,"—ruminating, "else you could not have passed the footman at the door."
"Mark my attire; or, candidly, do I look like a footman?"
"No-o; I can't say you do; but in Cinderella, don't you know, the footman carried the slipper."
"Oh, I'm the prince," I explained easily; "I dismissed the footman at the door."