She stirred again. I went on:
"It might really belong to a princess, but only in a fairy-book; for all the princesses I have ever seen couldn't put a hand in a shoe like this, much less a foot. And when I declare to you, upon my honor, that I have met various princesses in my time, you will appreciate the compliment I pay to Cinderella."
The smile on her lips wavered and trembled, like a puff of wind on placid water, and was gone.
"Leave it," she said, melting, "and be gone."
"I couldn't. It wouldn't be gallant at all, don't you know. The prince himself put the slipper on Cinderella."
"But this is a modern instance, and a prosaic world. Men are no longer gallants, but business men or club gossips; and you do not look like a business man."
"I never belonged to a club in my life."
"You do not look quite so unpopular as all that."
A witty woman! To be pretty and witty at the same time—the gifts of Minerva and Venus in lavishment!