“Please, miss, you have forgotten. You went to the ball last night.”
“No; I did not. I overslept myself.”
The maid smiled. “If I may be so bold as to say so, I think, Miss Betty, you are dreaming still.”
“No; I did not go.”
The maid took up the satin dress. It was crumpled, the lace was a little torn, and the train showed unmistakable signs of having been drawn over a floor.
She then held up the shoes. They had been worn, and well worn, as if danced in all night.
“Look here, miss; here is your programme! Why, deary me! you must have had a lot of dancing. It is quite full.”
Betty looked at the programme with dazed eyes; then at the camellia. It had lost some of its petals, and these had not fallen on the toilet-cover. Where were they? What was the meaning of this?
“Martha, bring me
