"
Edith laughed absently, her thoughts elsewhere.
"And she looked dreadfully puzzled," Fenton continued, "as to whether
she ought to be shocked or not. But bless me, how late it is! Good-
night, my dear."
He stretched up his arms in a yawn. Edith turned quickly toward him.
"Arthur," she said abruptly, but with the kindness of her softened
mood, "are you painting Ninitta?"
He gave her a startled glance and sat down again in his chair. There
ran through his mind a sudden pang of fear, but he said to himself
instantly that Edith was not one to suspect evil, and she could not
possibly know the truth.
"Painting Ninitta?" he returned. "Why do you ask that?"
"Because Fred Rangely told Helen at dinner to-night that you were."
"Where did he get his information?" asked Fenton, with a feeling of
tightness in his throat as he remembered how Rangely had knocked at his
door that morning.
"He said," was Edith's answer, "that a carpenter told him Mrs. Herman
was in the studio to-day; and I remembered seeing her wrap there last
week."
Fenton felt the insecurity of a man about whom all things totter in the
shock of an earthquake, but he refused to yield to fear. He wondered
how much was to be inferred from the fact that an unknown mechanic was
aware of Mrs. Herman's visits. He had an overwhelming sense of being
trapped, and he inwardly gnashed his teeth with rage against Ninitta
and against fate.
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