A comely Englishwoman of about 40 years answered Dicky’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 fishing 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-fashioned chicken pie for our own dinner.  There is plenty of it still hot if you wish to try it.”

“Madam,” Dicky 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 assure 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.

Dicky and I looked at each other when she had left us.

“The beautiful unknown,” Dicky 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 illustrations 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 Dicky’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 sunshine.