Again the eye wanders and she inventories a dress, and you say:-- "Oils." "Do you ever allow visitors come to your studio?" "Why, I never prevent them, but I'm so afraid it will bore them that I never ask them." "Oh, how could anybody be bored at anything?" "But every one hasn't your enthusiasm. My studio is in the top of the Madison Square tower, and I never see a soul from week's end to week's end." "Oh, then you're not married." "Dear, no; a man who is wedded to his art mustn't commit bigamy." "Oh, how clever. So you're a bachelor?" "Yes, but I have my wife for a chaperon and I'd be delighted to have you come and take tea with us some Saturday from six until three." "Perfectly delighted!" Her eye now catches sight of an acquaintance just coming in, and as you prepare to leave her you say:-- "Hope you don't mind a little artistic unconventionality. We always have beer at our teas served with sugar and lemons, the Russian fashion." "Oh, I think it's much better than cream. I adore unconventionality." "You're very glad you met me, I'm sure." "Awfully good of you to say so." Anything goes at an afternoon tea. But it's better not to go. THE WIDOW BEDOTT'S VISITOR BY FRANCES M. WHICHER Jest in time, Mr. Crane: we've jist this minit sot down to tea. Draw up a cheer and set by. Now, don't say a word: I shan't take _no_ for an answer. Should a had things ruther different, to be sure, if I'd suspected _you_, Mr. Crane; but I won't appolligize,--appolligies don't never make nothin' no better, you know. Why, Melissy, you hain't half sot the table: where's the plum-sass? thought you was a-gwine to git some on't for tea? I don't see no cake, nother. What a keerless gal you be! Dew bring 'em on quick; and, Melissy, dear, fetch out one o' them are punkin pies and put it warmin'. How do you take your tea, Mr. Crane? clear, hey? How much that makes me think o' husband! he always drunk hisen clear. Now, dew make yerself to hum, Mr. Crane: help yerself to things. Do you eat johnny-cake? 'cause if you don't I'll cut some white bread. Dew, hey? We're all great hands for injin bread here, 'specially Kier. If I don't make a johnny-cake every few days he says to me, says he, "Mar, why don't you make some injin bread? it seems as if we hadn't never had none." Melissy, pass the cheese. Kier, see't Mr. Crane has butter. This 'ere butter's a leetle grain frouzy. I don't want you to think it's my make, for't ain't. Sam Pendergrass's wife (she 'twas Sally Smith) she borrowed butter o' me t'other day, and this 'ere's what she sent back. I wouldn't 'a' had it on if I'd suspected company. How do you feel to-day, Mr. Crane? Didn't take no cold last night! Well, I'm glad on't. I was raly afeard you would, the lectur'-room was so turrible hot. I was eny-most roasted, and I wa'n't dressed wonderful warm nother,--had on my green silk mankiller, and that ain't very thick. Take a pickle, Mr. Crane. I'm glad you're a favorite o' pickles. I think pickels a