It is possible that my doleful visage--I am convinced that it had become doleful--moved Margaret to sympathy. Anyhow she all at once jumped up and, I have no doubt with the best will in the world by way of making things easier for me promptly proceeded to make them worse.
"Come along, Molly, let's have some tennis. Run upstairs and put your shoes on."
"My shoes? What shoes?"
"Why, your tennis shoes."
"My tennis shoes? I--I'm afraid I haven't brought any tennis shoes."
"Not brought any tennis shoes? But, of course, you do play tennis?"
The question was put in such a way as to infer that if I did not, then I must be a sorry specimen of humanity indeed. But, as it happened, I did play tennis, at least, after a fashion. We had what was called a tennis lawn at home, the condition of which may be deduced from the fact that I had never imagined that it would be inadvisable to play on it in hobnailed boots if anyone so desired.
"Of course I play; but--I haven't brought any particular shoes. Won't these do?"
I protruded one of those which I had on. Margaret could not have seemed more startled if I had shown her a bare foot.
"Those! why, they've got heels."