Fenton and
her husband. She looked up quickly, with an instinctive desire to turn
the conversation, but found no words ready.
Edith had at the moment yielded to a woman's craving for sympathy. An
incident which had happened that forenoon troubled and bewildered her.
She had been down town, and remembering a matter of importance about
which she had neglected to consult her husband in the morning, she had
turned aside to visit his studio, a thing she seldom did in his working
hours. She found him painting from a model, and she was kept waiting a
moment while the latter retired from sight. She thought nothing of
this, but as she stood talking with Arthur, her glance fell upon a wrap
which she recognized as belonging to Mrs. Herman, and which had been
carelessly left upon the back of a chair in sight. Even this might not
have troubled her, had it not been that when she looked questioningly
from the garment to her husband, she caught a look of consternation in
his eyes. His glance met hers and turned aside with that almost
imperceptible wavering which shows the avoidance to be intentional; and
a pang of formless terror pierced her.
All the way home she was tormented by the wonder how that wrap could
have come in her husband's studio, and what reason he could have for
being disturbed by her seeing it there. She was not a woman given to
petty or vulgar jealousy, and she had from the first left the artist
perfectly free in his professional relations to be governed by the
necessities or the conveniences of his profession.
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