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I regretted not having asked Pasquale to dinner at the
club. I particularly did not intend to explain Carlotta to
Pasquale. In fact, I see no reason at all for me to proclaim her
to my acquaintance. She is merely an accident of my
establishment.
I rose and rang the bell.
"That slipper," said I, "does not belong to me, and it certainly
ought not to be here."
Pasquale surrendered it to my outstretched hand.
"It must fit a remarkably pretty foot," said he.
"I assure you, my dear Pasquale," I replied dryly, "I have never
looked at the foot that it may fit." Nor had I. A row of pink
toes is not a foot.
"Stenson," said I, when my man appeared, "take this to Miss
Carlotta and say with my compliments she should not have left it
in the drawing-room."
Stenson, thinking I had rung for whisky, had brought up decanter
and glasses. As he set the tray upon the small table, I noticed
Pasquale look with some curiosity at my man's impassive face.
But he said nothing more about the slipper. I poured out his
whisky and soda.


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