ets great
drafts of fresh air."

"Oh, how perfectly entrancing! You're quite a poet."

"No; I'm a painter."

Now she is really attentive. She thought you were just an ordinary
beast, and she finds that you may be a lion. Smith? Perhaps you're
Hopkinson Smith.

"Oh, do you paint? How perfectly adorable! What do you paint--landscapes
or portraits?"

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,