Dicky had not been so absorbed in his meal, however, as to miss any graceful movement of Miss Draper's. The admiring glances which he gave her as she served us with quick, deft motions were not lost upon me. I knew that she was not oblivious of them either, although her manner was perfect in its calm, indifferent courtesy. When it came time for dessert Mrs. Gorman bore the tray in on which it was served, a cherry roly-poly, covered with a steaming sauce. "You're in luck," she said with a naive pride in her own culinary ability, as she served the pudding. "I don't often make this pudding, and my canned cherries from last summer are getting scarce. But my sister came home unexpectedly this morning, and this pudding is one of her favorites. So I made it for dinner. I thought perhaps it would cheer her up." Miss Draper who entered at that moment with the coffee and a bit of English cheese that looked particularly appetizing, appeared distinctly annoyed at her sister's reference to her. Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes flashed a warning glance at Mrs. Gorman. "I am sure this pudding would cheer anybody up," said Dicky genially, attacking his. "It is delicious," I said, and, indeed, it was. "I have tasted nothing like this since I was a child in the country." Mrs. Gorman beamed at the praise. She evidently was a hospitable soul. "Would you like the recipe for it?" she asked. "Indeed she would," Dicky struck in. "If you can teach Katie to make this," he turned to me, "I'll stand treat to anything you wish." "What a rash promise," I smiled at Dicky, then turned to Mrs. Gorman. "I should be very glad to have the recipe," I said. "Here," Dicky passed a pencil and the back of an envelope over the table. So, while Mrs. Gorman dictated the recipe, I dutifully wrote it down. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Gorman," I said as I finished writing. "You are very welcome, I am sure," she said heartily. "You are strangers here, aren't you? I've never seen you around here before." "This is my wife's first visit to this village," Dicky struck into the conversation. I realized that he welcomed this opportunity of beginning a conversation with Mrs. Gorman and her sister, so that he might lead up to his request for Miss Draper's services as a model. "I have been in the village frequently," went on Dicky. "I used to sketch a good deal along the brook to the north of the village." "Then you are an artist!" We heard Miss Draper's voice for the first time since she had shown us to the room above. Then her tones had been cool and indifferent. Now her exclamation was full of emotion of some sort. "An artist!" echoed Mrs. Gorman, staring at Dicky as if he were the President. There was a little strained silence, then Miss Draper picked up the serving tray and hurried into the kitchen. Mrs. Gorman wiped her eyes as she saw her sister's departure.