The present glittering display of openly expressed frivolity seemed curiously new, and vaguely alarming. He was angry with it, yet in a manner attracted. He found himself considering, with a curious uneasiness, two small nondescript pink objects that were lying on the floor at some distance from each other. At a first glance they appeared to be very choice examples of that charming orchid known as the 'Cypripedium,'--but on closer examination it was evident they were merely fashionable evening shoes. Again and again he turned his eyes away from them,--and again and again his glance involuntarily wandered back and rested on their helpless-looking little pointed toes and ridiculously high heels. Considered from a purely 'sanitary' point of view, they were the most wicked, the most criminal, the most absolutely unheard-of shoes ever seen. Why, no human feet of the proper size could possibly get into them, unless they were squeezed--"Yes, squeezed!"--repeated Walden inwardly, with a sense of unreasonable irritation; "All the toes cramped and the heels pinched--everything out of joint and distorted--false feet, in fact, like everything else false that has to do with the modern fashionable woman!"
There they lay,-apparently innocent;--but surely detestable, nay even Satanic objects. He determined he would have them removed-- picked up--cast out--thrust into the nearest drawer, anywhere, in fact, provided they were out of his stern, clerical sight. Mrs. Spruce was continuing conversation in brisk tones, but whether she was addressing him, or the buxom young woman, who, under her directions was shaking out or folding up the various garments taken out of the various boxes, he did not know, and, as a matter of fact, he did not care. She sounded like Tennyson's 'Brook,' with a 'Men may come and men may go, but I go on for ever' monotonousness that was as depressing as it was incessant.
He determined to interrupt the purling stream.
"Mrs. Spruce," he began,--then hesitated, as she turned briskly towards him, looking like a human clothes-prop, with both fat arms extended in order to keep well away from contact with the floor a gauzy robe sparkling all over with tiny crystalline drops, which, catching the sunbeams, flashed like little points of flame.
"Beggin' your pardon, Passon, did you speak?"
"Yes. I think you should not let anything lie about, as, for example,--those--" and he pointed to the objectionable shoes with an odd sense of discomfiture; "They appear to be of a delicate colour and might easily get soiled."
Mrs. Spruce peered round over the sparkling substance she held, looking like a very ancient and red-faced cherub peeping over the rim of a moonlit cloud.