"Helen was in last evening," she said. "She is troubled about Ninitta;
but I think it is because she isn't used to her ways."
Fenton started guiltily.
"What about Ninitta?" he demanded.
"Helen says she acts strangely, as if she had something on her mind;
and that she complains bitterly that her husband doesn't care for her."
Arthur shrugged his shoulders. He was on his guard now, and perfectly
self-possessed.
"No?" he said, inquiringly. "Why should he?"
"Why should he?" echoed his wife indignantly. Then she recovered
herself, and let the question pass, saying simply: "That would lead us
into one of our old discussions about right and wrong."
"Those struggles and quibbles between right and wrong," Fenton retorted
contemptuously, "have ceased to amuse me. They were interesting when I
was young enough for them to have novelty, but now I find grand
passions and a strong will more entertaining than that form of
amusement."
Edith raised her clear eyes to his with a calmness which she had
learned by years of patient struggle.
"And yet," she answered, "the people whom I have found most true, most
helpful, and even most comfortable, have been those who believed these
questions of right and wrong the most vital things in the universe."
"Oh, certainly," was the reply. "A superstition is an admirable thing
in its place.
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