ONCE upon a time there was a beautiful girl who lived in a mansion
in Park Lane with her mother and her two sisters and a crowd of
servants. Cinderella, for that was her name, would have dearly loved
to have employed herself about the house sometimes; but whenever she
did anything useful, like arranging the flowers or giving the pug a
bath, her mother used to say, "Cinderella! What DO you think I
engage servants for? Please don't make yourself so common."
Cinderella's two sisters were much older and plainer than herself,
and their mother had almost given up hope about them, but she used
to drag Cinderella to balls and dances night after night, taking
care that only the right sort of person was introduced to her. There
were many nights when Cinderella would have preferred a book at home
in front of the fire, for she soon found that her partners' ideas of
waltzing were as catholic as their conversation was limited. It was,
indeed, this fondness for the inglenook that had earned her the name
of Cinderella.
One day, when she was in the middle of a delightful story, her
mother came in suddenly and cried:
"Cinderella! Why aren't you resting, as I told you? You know we are
going to the Hogbins' to-night."
"Oh, mother," pleaded Cinderella, "NEED I go to the dance?"
"Don't be so absurd! Of course you're going!"
"But I've got nothing to wear."
"I've told Jennings what you're to wear. Now go and lie down. I want
you to look your best to-night, because I hear that young Mr Hogbin
is back again from Australia." Young Mr Hogbin was not the King's
son; he was the son of a wealthy gelatine manufacturer.
"Then may I come away at twelve?" begged Cinderella.
"You'll come away when I tell you."
Cinderella made a face and went upstairs. "Oh, dear," she thought to
herself, "I wish I were as old as my two sisters, and could do what
I liked. I'm sure if my godmother were here she would get me off
going." But, alas! her godmother lived at Leamington, and
Cinderella, after a week at Leamington, had left her there only
yesterday.
Cinderella indeed looked beautiful as they started for the ball; but
her mother, who held a review of her in the drawing-room, was not
quite satisfied.
"Cinderella!" she said. "You know I said you were to wear the silver
slippers!"
"Oh, mother, they ARE so tight," pleaded Cinderella. "Don't you
remember I told you at the time they were much too small for me?"
"Nonsense. Go and put them on at once."
The dance was in full swing when Cinderella arrived. Although her
lovely appearance caused several of the guests to look at her, they
did not ask each other eagerly who she was, for most of them knew
her already as Miss Partington-Smith. A brewer's son led her off to
dance.
The night wore on slowly. One young man after another trod on
Cinderella's toes, trotted in circles round her, ran her violently
backwards into some other man, or swooped with her into the
fireplace. Cinderella, whose feet seemed mechanically to adapt
themselves to the interpretation of the Boston that was forming in
her partner's brain, bore it from each one as long as she could; and
then led the way to a quiet corner, where she confessed frankly that
she had NOT bought all her Christmas presents yet, and that she WAS
going to Switzerland for the winter.
The gelatine manufacturer's son took her in to supper. It was
noticed that Cinderella looked much happier as soon as they had sat
down, and indeed throughout the meal she was in the highest spirits.
For some reason or other she seemed to find even Mr Hogbin
endurable. But just as they were about to return to the ball-room an
expression of absolute dismay came over her face.
"Anything the matter?" said her partner.
"N--no," said Cinderella; but she made no effort to move.
"Well, shall we come?"
"Y--yes."
She waited a moment longer, dropped her fan under the table, picked
it up slowly, and followed him out.
"Let's sit down here," she said in the hall; "not upstairs."
They sat in silence; for he had exhausted his stock of questions at
the end of their first dance, and had told her all about Australia
during supper; while she apparently had no desire for conversation
of any kind, being wrapped up in her thoughts.
"I'll wait here," she said, as a dance began. "If you see mother, I
wish you'd send her to me."
Her mother came up eagerly.
"Well, dear?" she said.
"Mother," said Cinderella, "do take me home at once. Something
extraordinary has happened."
"It's young Mr Hogbin! I knew it!"
"Who? Oh--er--yes, of course. I'll tell you all about it in the
carriage, mother."
"Is my little girl going to be happy?"
"I don't know," said Cinderella anxiously. "There's just a chance."
The chance must have come off, for, once in the carriage, Cinderella
gave a deep sigh of happiness.
"Well, dear?" said her mother again.
"You'll NEVER guess, mother," laughed Cinderella. "Try."
"I guess that my little daughter thinks of running away from me,"
said her mother archly. "Am I right?"
"Oh, how lovely! Why, running away is simply the LAST thing I could
do. Look!" She stretched out her foot-clothed only in a pale blue
stocking.
"Cinderella!"
"I TOLD you they were too tight," she explained rapidly, "and I was
trodden on by every man in the place, and I simply HAD to kick them
off at supper, and--and I only got one back. I don't know what
happened to the other; I suppose it got pushed along somewhere, but,
anyhow, _I_ wasn't going under the table after it." She laughed
suddenly and softly to herself. "I wonder what they'll do when they
find the slipper?" she said.
. . . . . . . .
Of course the King's son (or anyhow, Mr Hogbin) ought to have sent
it round to all the ladies in Mayfair, taking knightly oath to marry
her whom it fitted. But what actually happened was that a footman
found it, and, being very sentimental and knowing that nobody would
ever dare to claim it, carried it about with him ever
afterwards--thereby gaining a great reputation with his cronies as a
nut.
Oh, and by the way--I ought to put in a good word for the godmother.
She did her best.
"Cinderella!" said her mother at lunch next day, as she looked up
from her letters. "Why didn't you tell me your godmother was ill?"
"She wasn't very well when I left her, but I didn't think it was
anything much. Is she bad? I AM sorry."
"She writes that she has obtained measles. I suppose that means
YOU'RE infectious. Really, it's very inconvenient. Well, I'm glad we
didn't know yesterday or you couldn't have gone to the dance."
"Dear fairy godmother!" said Cinderella to herself. "She was a day
too late, but how sweet of her to think of it at all!"