it!--had been replaced by an
old pair, in the bustle of departure.

The three girls stared at one another in consternation. Here was a
catastrophe to happen just at the last moment, when everyone was so
happy and well satisfied! The dismay on the chubby face was so pitiful
that neither of Mellicent's companions could find it in her heart to
speak a word of reproof. They rather set to work to propose different
ways out of the difficulty.

"Get hold of Max, and coax him to go back for them!"

"He wouldn't; it's no use. It's raining like anything, and it would
take him an hour to go there and come back."

"Ask Lady Darcy to send one of the servants--"

"No use, my dear. They are scampering up and down like mice, and
haven't a moment to spare from their own work."

"See if Rosalind would lend me a pair!"

"Silly goose! Look at your foot. It is three times the size of hers.
You will just have to wear them, I'm afraid. Give them to me, and let
me see what can be done." Peggy took the slippers in her hands and
studied them critically. They were certainly not new, but then they
were by no means old; just respectable, middle-aged creatures, slightly
rubbed on the heel and white at the toes, but with many a day of good
hard wear still before them.

"Oh, come," she said reassuringly, "they are not so bad, Mellicent!
With a little polish they would look quite presentable. I'll tap at the
door and ask Rosalind if she has some that she can lend us. She is sure
to have it. There are about fifty thousand bottles on her table."

Peggy crossed the room as she spoke, tapped on the panel, and received
an immediate answer in a high complacent treble.

"Coming! Coming! I'm weady;" then the door flew open; a tiny pink silk
shoe stepped daintily over the mat, and Rosalind stood before them in
all the glory of a new Parisian dress. Three separate gasps of
admiration greeted her appearance, and she stood smiling and dimpling
while the girls took in the fascinating details--the satin frock of
palest imaginable pink, the white chiffon over-dress which fell from
shoulder to hem in graceful freedom, sprinkled over with exquisite
rose--leaves--it was all wonderful--fantastic--as far removed from
Peggy's muslin as from the homely crepon of the vicar's daughters.

"Rosalind! what a perfect _angel_ you look!" gasped Mellicent, her own
dilemma forgotten in her wholehearted admiration; but the next moment
memory came back, an