I explained to him, as he rose dripping from the bed, the reason of my presence.

He did not seem to be excited, alarmed, or discomposed.

He gazed at me curiously.
"So you risked your life to save mine, eh?
you canary-colored teacher of infants." I blushed modestly, and drew my shawl tightly over my yellow flannel nightgown.
"You love me, Mary Jane,--don't deny it! This trembling shows it!" He drew me closely toward him, and said, with his deep voice tenderly modulated:-- "How's her pooty tootens,--did she get her 'ittle tootens wet,--bess her ?" I understood his allusion to my feet.

I glanced down and saw that in my hurry I had put on a pair of his old india-rubbers.

My feet were not small or pretty, and the addition did not add to their beauty.
"Let me go, sir," I remarked quietly.