"'No, but - Why, my dear boy, are you hurt? Let me - ' And she had her scissors out and ripped the string up in a jiffy. The shoe came off; and there was that cigarette stub in it!
"Of course we laughed, but the pesky thing had burnt right into my foot, and I was as lame as a Bull of Bashan. And then I had no string to that boot, too; so, you see, we had to walk home slowly, and there was no time for flowers if we wanted to get home before dark. So there was no grubbing that day.
"And as we walked home she let me take a cigarette to soothe my nerves, though I'm afraid she laughed at me for having them. But somehow I found this handkerchief in my pocket that evening, and she has n't asked for it yet. So there it is.
"But what I wanted to ask you was, whether I'd better have it washed or not. Because it looks disgracefully now, but if it was clean I'm afraid I should n't remember about it."
M. B.