seated and leading the conversation
into the most agreeable channels.

The dinner was perfect, every detail in absolute taste, served
beautifully but with an elegant simplicity. Molly made mental notes on
the sauce with the fish, trying to find out without asking what was in
it; and then the gravy with the filet of beef occupied her attention.
Such a wonderful gravy with a character all its own. She remembered what
Edwin Green had told her of the Frenchman who was visiting America. When
asked his impressions of the country, he had said: "America is a country
with a thousand different religions and one sauce." She wondered what
Miss Morse would think of this gravy, and smiled as she recalled the
lecture on gravies delivered by that highly educated teacher of domestic
science and the smooth, perfect specimen she demonstrated, with no more
flavor than Miss Morse herself.

"What is the little joke my Cousin Mollee is having all to herself,"
asked the marquis.

Molly frankly confessed what had made her smile, since her cousin wanted
to know, and of course in her confession praise of the gravy had to be
included.

"Brava, brava," and the Marquis d'Ochte clapped his hands. "She is like
my Sara in all ways. She is also a discriminator in foods. This gravy,
my dear Mademoiselle, is the _chef d'oeuvre_ of my chef. You notice
the butler, Jules, has left the room. _Pourquoi_ does he go? He cannot
wait to tell Gaston, the chef, that Madame's cousin from across the seas
has been so gracious as to praise his work of art. If you will turn ever
so little you will see the happy face of Gaston peeping in to view the
beautiful young lady."

Molly turned, and sure enough, tip-toeing to see over the shoulder of
Jules the butler, was Gaston, his face radiant.

"Molly is a wonderful cook herself," said Judy. "She has an instinct for
food that is truly remarkable. At college an invitation to a Molly Brown
spread was looked upon with greater reverence than being asked to have
tea with the President. But has she not learned from Aunt Mary, that
dear old colored woman who cooks like an angel? We trembled for fear
that the domestic science teacher would ruin Molly's touch and make her
too academic, but I hope it hasn't."

"Dear Aunt Mary, I had almost forgotten her!" exclaimed the marchioness.
"Don't tell me you can make Aunt Mary's spoon corn bread, Molly! If you
can, I'll make the Bents move out of their studio to-morrow so you can
move