Rushing up the stairs, I found my shawl and bonnet; and then, without a word to any one, started for home, minus my shoe, which I entirely forgot in my excitement. I had scarcely got outside the gate when the sound of a footstep caused me to look around, and I saw Dr. Clayton, his hat in one hand and Mrs. Ross’s slipper in the other. This last he passed to me, and then without a word drew my arm within his, and for a time we walked on in silence, while I cried as if my heart would break. Coming at last to an old oak tree, under which a rude bench had been constructed, he bade me sit down; and placing himself by my side, asked me, “What was the matter?”
“You know well enough what’s the matter,” I said angrily, struggling to rise; but his arm was strong, and he held me fast, while he tried to quiet me, and in this he soon succeeded, for he possessed over me a power which I could not resist.
Gradually, as I grew calm, I told him all; how I believed that Dell Thompson had invited me only to ridicule me, how she had asked me to come in the afternoon, and then made fun of me for doing so; while her companions called me green; and that in the absence of my own slippers I had worn those of Mrs. Ross; thereby meeting with the worst catastrophe of all; to wit, the falling flat in the dance!
Here I broke down entirely, and cried out aloud; while the doctor, after one or two hearty laughs at my distress, tried again to comfort me, asking me what I cared for Dell Thompson’s ridicule. “She wasn’t worth minding,” he said, “and no one who knows her would attach any importance to her remarks.”
“But what makes her treat me so?” I asked; “I never harmed her.”
For a time the doctor said nothing; but the arm, which all the time had encircled my waist, drew me still closer to his side, while he at last replied, “she is jealous of you—jealous because she thinks I like the little Rose better than I do her.”
“And it’s very foolish in her to think so,” I exclaimed.
Again the doctor was silent, but by the light of the full moon I saw that there was a curious train of thought passing through his mind, but it did not manifest itself in words; for when he again spoke, it was merely to reply, “Yes, very foolish;” then, after another pause, he added, “and still I know of no reason why I should like her best—do you?”
“Yes,” I answered quickly, “there are many reasons. She is handsome; I am homely. She is graceful; I am awkward. She is rich; I am poor”——
“She is artificial; you are truthful;” said he, interrupting me, while, without paying any heed to this remark, I continued, “she is a young lady, and I am a little girl—only thirteen.”