There is little excuse for poor tea, unless it be considered as a vulgar flavoring intended to lend a different taste to the water taken from the faucet. A pound of the best lasts me for the greater part of a year, for I take it seldom, and a dollar more than the price of green and fibrous rubbish permits me to offer my friends and delight myself with a cup such as brings joy and an eagerness for a second filling. "Of course, I was a little afraid at first," confessed Frances, as I measured out a spoonful for each of us and one for the greedy pot. "Mr. McGrath was exceedingly civil, however, and briefly explained that for the time being I must consider myself as one of his materials, like a tube of paint or his easel." "That's just like Gordon," I interjected. "Well, it seemed quite right," she went on. "He made me sit down a dozen times, in various ways, and then he'd look at me and move my chin a little, or change the position of my arm. It took him quite a long time and the more he shifted me around, the more he frowned, so that at last I asked him just what he wanted. "'I want you to hold that baby and look at it as if it were the biggest thing on earth, and forget me, and forget that you're posing,' he said, and I asked him to let me try all by myself. So I moved around a bit and held my head differently, and he said that was just what he was looking for. He told me to keep still and went to work at once. In a half an hour he asked me if I didn't want to rest, and I told him I had pins and needles in my legs, and he said I must get up and walk a few times around the studio. A few minutes later I sat down again, and--and that's all, I think." "What did he talk about?" asked Frieda. "He didn't talk; just kept on glaring at me and then staring at his canvas and working away, ever so quickly. At the end of an hour he asked me how it was that the baby kept so quiet, and I told him it was asleep. "'When he wakes up he'll howl, won't he?' he asked me. "'I don't think so. Paul never howls,' I told him, and just then the poor wee thing woke up and began. It was perfectly dreadful! He never cried so loud before. Then Mr. McGrath told me to go into the next room and see if it was pins or hunger and to take my own time. So when I came back he was walking up and down in front of his canvas and paid no attention to me for the longest time. Then he said we might as well go on, and I suppose he worked for another hour. He stopped suddenly and told me I could take off the queer shawl he'd put about my shoulders and run away. He warned me to be on time to-morrow, because he didn't like to wait. After that he took his hat and went away and his Japanese man showed me out, when I was ready." "I told you it wouldn't be so dreadfully hard," said Frieda, "and Gordon, in spite of his queer ways, is a very nice and decent fellow. He paints like an angel, he does, but he's as cold-blooded about his work as a pawnbroker."