"Let's walk down that old winding street which you told me about last winter," I said. "I've wanted to see it ever since you spoke about it." "We'll probably motor down it instead," he grinned. "There's a real estate office just opposite here, and I see the agent's flivver in front of the door, where he stands just inside his office. The spider and the fly, eh, Madge? Well, Mr. Spider, here are two dear little flies for you!" "Oh, Dicky!" I dragged at his arm in protest. "Don't spoil our first view of that street by whirling through it in a car. Let's saunter down it first and then come back to the real estate man." "You have a gleam of human intelligence, sometimes, don't you?" Dicky inquired banteringly. Then he took my arm to help me across the rough places in the country road. We had almost reached the door of the office when Dicky caught sight of a plainly dressed woman coming toward us. I heard him catch his breath, his grasp on my arm tightened, and with an indescribable agile movement he fairly bolted into the real estate office, dragging me with him. "I'll explain later," he said in my ear. "Just follow my lead now." As he turned to the rotund little real estate agent, who came forward to greet us, a look of surprise on his round face, I looked through the window at the woman from whose sight he had dodged. Then I felt that I needed an explanation, indeed. For the woman whose eyes my husband so evidently wished to avoid was Mrs. Gorman, Grace Draper's sister. * * * * * So I was to live in a house of Grace Draper's choosing, after all! This was the thought that came most forcibly to me when Mr. Brennan, the owner of the house Dicky had impetuously decided to rent, told us that Miss Draper had looked over the place for an artist friend, and that she would have taken it only for finding another house nearer her own home. I was so absorbed in my own thoughts that I did not at first notice Dicky's embarrassment when Mr. Brennan asked him if he knew Grace Draper. It was only when the man, who had all the earmarks of a gossiping countryman, repeated the question, that I realized Dicky's confusion. "Did you say you knew her?" "Yes, I know her; she works in my studio," remarked Dicky, shortly. "Oh!" The exclamation had the effect of a long-drawn whistle. "Then you probably were the artist friend she spoke of." "I probably was." Dicky's tone was grim. I knew how near his temper was to exploding, and the look which I beheld on the face of Mr. Birdsall, the little real estate agent, galvanized me into action. "Dear, what do you suppose led Grace to think we would like that other place better than this?" I flashed a tender little smile at Dicky. "Of course we would like to be nearer her, but this is not very far from her home, and it is so much better, isn't it?" Dicky took the cue without a tremor.