er and aunt were two most charming elderly
ladies, immaculately dainty in their dress, cordial of manner, bright
of eye, and diminutive of hand, producing the impression of gentle
goodness set off by soft white muslin, folded tenderly.

They had heard of me. In the few days in which I had been with the
Larramies, Miss Willoughby had written of me. They insisted that I
should stay to supper, for what good reason could there be for my
taking that meal at the hotel--not a very good one--when they would be
so glad to have me sup with them and talk about our mutual friends?

I had no reasonable objection to offer, and, returning to the station,
I took my baggage to the hotel, where I prepared to sup with the
Willoughby family.

They were now a little family of three, although there was a brother
who had started away the day before on a bicycling tour very like my
own, and they were both so delighted to have Amy visit the Larramies,
and they were both so delighted to have her come back.

The supper was a delicate one, suitable for canary birds, but at an
early stage of the meal a savory little sirloin steak was brought on
which had been cooked especially for me. Of course I could not be
expected to be satisfied with thin dainties, no matter how tasteful
they might be.

This house was the abode of intelligence, cultivated taste, and
opulence. It was probably the finest mansion of the town. In every
room there were things to see, and after supper we looked at them,
and, as I wandered from pictures to vases and carved ivory, the
remarks of the two elder ladies and Miss Willoughby seemed like a
harmonized chorus accompanying the rest of the performance. Each spoke
at the right time, each in her turn said the thing she ought to say.
It was a rare exhibition of hospitable enthusiasm, tempered by
sympathetic consideration for me and for each other.

I soon discovered that many of the water-color drawings on the walls
were the work of Miss Willoughby, and when she saw I was interested in
them she produced a portfolio of her sketches. I liked her coloring
very much. It was sometimes better than her drawing. It was dainty,
delicate, and suggestive. One picture attracted me the moment my eyes
fell upon it; it was one of the most carefully executed, and it
represented the Holly Sprig Inn.

"You recognize that!" said Miss Willoughby, evidently pleased. "You
see that light-colored spot in the portico? That's Mrs. Chester; she
stoo