"Yes," the other went on. "Fred Rangely told me at dinner to-night that
he couldn't get into the studio this morning because Arthur was
painting Mrs. Herman."
"What did you say to him?" asked Edith.
"I said," her companion returned, looking up in surprise at her tone,
"that I fancied the picture must be intended as a surprise for Mr.
Herman and he'd better not speak of it."
"But," Edith objected, "if Arthur told him she was there"--
"He didn't," interrupted Helen; "a man outside the door said he had
seen her go in."
Edith grew pale as ashes. She evidently made a strong effort at self-
control; and then, burying her face in her hands, she burst into
violent weeping. Helen bent forward and put her arms about her. She
drew the quivering form close, resting Edith's beautiful head upon her
bosom. She did not speak, but with soft, caressing touch she smoothed
the other's hair. She remembered vividly the time, six years before,
when Edith, who had left her at night in indignation and disapproval,
had come to her on the morning after her husband's death. She could
almost have said to this weeping woman, the words with which she
remembered the other had then greeted her,--"You must feel so lonely."
She dared not speak now. She feared to ask the cause of this outburst,
both lest Edith might be led to say what she would afterward wish
unspoken, and because she dreaded to hear unpleasant truths in regard
to Arthur.
Pages:
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299