Revelations of a Wife Part 11

I did not speak again until we had turned from the street down which we were walking into a winding thoroughfare labelled "Sh.o.r.e Road."

Then a thought which had come to me during our walk demanded utterance.

"d.i.c.ky," I said quietly, "wasn't Gorman the name of the woman of whom the station master told you, and didn't she live on Sh.o.r.e Road?"

d.i.c.ky stopped short as if he had been struck.

"Of course it was," he almost shouted. "What a ninny I was not to remember it. She's the sister of that stunning girl we saw in the train. Isn't this luck? I may be able to get that girl to pose for me after all."

But I did not echo his sentiments. Secretly I hoped the girl would not be at her sister's home.

"This surely must be the place, d.i.c.ky," I said as we rounded a sudden turn on Sh.o.r.e Road and caught sight of a quaint structure that seemed to belong to the 16th century rather than the 20th.

d.i.c.ky whistled. "Well! What do you want to know about that?" he demanded of the horizon in general, for the little brown house with its balconies projecting from unexpected places and its lattice work cunningly outlined against its walls was well worth looking at. But our hunger soon drove us through the gate and up the steps.

A comely Englishwoman of about 40 years answered d.i.c.ky's sounding of the quaintly carved knocker. He lifted his hat with a curtly bow.

"We were told at Putnam Manor that we might be able to get dinner here," he began. "We came down from the city this morning expecting that the inn would be open. But we found it closed and we are very hungry. Would it be possible for you to accommodate us?"

"I think we shall be able to give you a fairly good dinner," she said with a simple directness that pleased me. "My husband went fis.h.i.+ng yesterday and I have some very good pan fish and some oysters. If you are very hungry I can give you the oysters almost at once, and it will not take very long to broil the fish. Then, if you care for anything like that, we had an old-fas.h.i.+oned chicken pie for our own dinner.

There is plenty of it still hot if you wish to try it."

"Madam," d.i.c.ky bowed again, "Chicken pie is our long suit, and we are also very fond of oysters and fish. Just bring us everything you happen to have in the house and I can a.s.sure you we will do full justice to it."

She smiled and went to the foot of the staircase, which had a mahogany stair rail carved exquisitely.

"Grace," she called melodiously. "There are two people here who will take dinner. Will you show them into my room, so they can lay aside their wraps?"

Without waiting for an answer, she motioned us to the staircase.

"My sister will take care of you," she said, and hurried out of another door, which we realized must lead to the kitchen.

d.i.c.ky and I looked at each other when she had left us.

"The beautiful unknown," d.i.c.ky said in a stage whisper. "Try to get on the good side of her, Madge. If I can get her to pose for that set of outdoor ill.u.s.trations Fillmore wants, me fortune's made, and hers, too," he burlesqued.

I nudged him to stop talking. I have a very quick ear, and I had heard a light footstep in the hall above us. As we reached the top of the stairs the girl of whom we were talking met us.

I acknowledged unwillingly to myself that she was even more beautiful than she had appeared on the train. She was gowned in a white linen skirt and white "middy," with white tennis shoes and white stockings.

Her dress was most unsuitable for the winter day, although the house was warm, but with another flash of remembrance of my own past privations, I realized the reason for her attire. This costume could be tubbed and ironed if it became soiled. It would stand a good deal of water. Her other clothing must be kept in good condition for the times when she must go outside of her home.

But if she had known of d.i.c.ky's mission and gowned herself accordingly she could not have succeeded better in satisfying his artistic eye.

He stared at her open-mouthed as she spoke a conventional word of greeting and showed us into a bedroom hung with chintzes and bright with the winter suns.h.i.+ne.

She was as calm, as unconsciously regal, as she had been on the train.

I knew, however, that she was not as indifferent to d.i.c.ky's open admiration as she appeared. The slightest heightening of the color in her cheek, a quickly-veiled flash of her eyes in his direction--these things I noticed in the short time she was in the room with us.

Was d.i.c.ky too absorbed in his plan or his drawings to see what I had seen? His words appeared to indicate that he was.

"Gee!" He drew a long breath as we heard Miss Draper--the name I had heard the 'bus driver give her--going down the stairs. "If I get a chance to talk to her today I'm going to make her promise to save that rig to pose in. She's the exact image of what I want. And graceful!

'Grace by name and grace by nature.' The old saw certainly holds good in her case."

I did not answer him. As I laid aside my furs and removed my hat and coat I felt a distinct sinking of the heart. I knew it was foolish, but the presence of this girl in whom d.i.c.ky displayed such interest took all the pleasure out of the day's outing.

"This is what I call eating," said d.i.c.ky as he helped himself to a second portion of the steaming chicken pie which Mrs. Gorman had placed before us. The oysters and the delicious broiled fish which had formed the first two courses of our dinner had been removed by her sister a few moments before.

d.i.c.ky 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 d.i.c.ky 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," d.i.c.ky 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 d.i.c.ky, then turned to Mrs. Gorman.

"I should be very glad to have the recipe," I said.

"Here," d.i.c.ky pa.s.sed 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," d.i.c.ky 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 d.i.c.ky. "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 d.i.c.ky 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.

"You mustn't think we're queer," she said at length. "But I suppose your saying you are an artist brought all her trouble back to Grace, poor girl." Mrs. Gorman's eyes threatened to overflow again.

"If it wouldn't trouble you too much, tell us about it." d.i.c.ky's voice was gentle, inviting. "Perhaps we could help you."