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?"