"That I shall." But I made up my mind that I should call on Nancy first. Otherwise it would be dangerous.
I stood alone. It rather hurt to think one girl should remember me and that the other should absolutely forget. But supper brought me out of my cogitations. So once again I put away the slipper and looked at my supper-card. I was destined to sit at table four. I followed the pilgrims out to worship at the shrine of Lucullus.
Evidently there was no Cinderella; or, true to her condition in life, she was at this moment seated before her ash-heap, surrounded by strutting and cooing doves. Well, well, I could put the slipper on the mantel at home; it would be a pleasant reminder.
I found table four. There were four chairs, none of them occupied; and as I sat down I wondered if any one I knew would sit down with me.
A heavy hand fell rudely upon my shoulder.
"What do you mean, sir, by entering a gentleman's house in this manner?" demanded a stern voice.
I turned, my ears burning hotly.
"You old prodigal! You old man-without-a-country! You pirate!" went on the voice. "How dared you sneak in in this fashion? Nan, what would you do with him if you were in my place?" The voice belonged to Nancy Marsden's brother.
"I have no desire to put myself in your place," said the only girl who could be Cinderella.
"I wouldn't bother about his slipper, not if he went barefooted all his life," said I.