It was Barry, aided and abetted by Leila, who brought out the old slippers.  There were Constance’s dancing slippers, high-heeled and of delicate hues, Mary’s more individual low-heeled ones, Barry’s outworn pumps, decorated hurriedly by Leila for the occasion with lovers’ knots of tissue paper.

And it was just as the bride waved “Good-bye” from Gordon’s limousine that a new slipper followed the old ones, for Leila, carried away by the excitement, and having at the moment no other missile at hand, reached down, and plucking off one of her own pink sandals, hurled it with all her might at the moving car.  It landed on top, and Leila, with a gasp, realized that it was gone forever.

“It serves you right.”  Looking up, she met Barry’s laughing eyes.

She sank down on the step.  “And they were a new pair!”

“Lucky that it’s your birthday next week,” he said.  “Do you want pink ones?’”

“Barry!”

Her delight was overwhelming.  “Heavens, child,” he condoned her, “don’t look as if I were the grand Mogul.  Do you know I sometimes think you are eight instead of eighteen?  And now, if you’ll take my arm, you can hippity-hop into the house.  And I hope that you’ll remember this, that if I give you pink slippers you are not to throw them away.”

In the hall they met Leila’s father—­General Wilfred Dick.  The General had married, in late bachelorhood, a young wife.  Leila was like her mother in her dark sparkling beauty and demure sweetness.  But she showed at times the spirit of her father—­the spirit which had carried the General gallantly through the Civil War, and had led him after the war to make a success of the practice of law.  He had been for years the intimate friend and adviser of the Ballards, and it was at Mary’s request that he was to stay to share in the coming conclave.

He told Leila this.  “You’ll have to wait, too,” he said.  “And now, why are you hopping on one foot in that absurd fashion?”

“Dad, dear, I lost my shoe——­”

“Her very best pink one,” Barry explained; “she threw it after the bride, and now I’ve got to give her another pair for her birthday.”

The General’s old eyes brightened as he surveyed the young pair.  This was as it should be, the son of his old friend and the daughter of his heart.

He tried to look stern, however.  “Haven’t I always kept you supplied with pink shoes and blue shoes and all the colors of the rainbow shoes!” he demanded.  “And why should you tax Barry?”

“But, Dad, he wants to.”  She looked eagerly at Barry for confirmation.  “He wants to give them to me—­for my birthday——­”

“Of course I do,” said Barry, lightly.  “If I didn’t give her slippers, I should have to give her something else—­and far be it from me to know what—­little—­lovely—­Leila—­wants——­”

And to the tune of his chant, they hippity-hopped together up the stairs in a hunt for some stray shoe that should fit little-lovely-Leila’s foot!