“I am not jesting with you, if you are not jesting with her,” the other replied. “You must see for yourself that the girl worships the very ground you walk upon. However, there is still time for matters to be put right. She has so far only looked at the affair from her own standpoint; what is more, I do not want her to lose her employment with you, since it means so much to her. What I do want is, that you should take hold of yourself in time and prevent her from being made unhappy while you have the opportunity.” “You may be quite sure that I will do so,” Henderson replied, more stiffly than he had yet spoken. “I am more sorry than I can say that this should have occurred. Teresina is a good girl, and I would no more think of causing her pain than I would of striking my own sister. And now I’m off to bed. Good-night.” True to his promise, his behaviour next day, so far as Teresina was concerned, was so different that she regarded him with surprise, quite unable to understand the reason of the change. She thought she must have offended him in some way, and endeavoured by all the means in her power to win herself back into his good graces. But the more she tried to conciliate him, the further he withdrew into his shell. Victor Fensden, smoking his inevitable cigarette, waited to see what the result would be. There was a certain amount of pathos in the situation, and a close observer might have noticed that the strain was telling upon both of the actors in it, the girl in particular. For the next fortnight or so, the moral temperature of the studio was not as equable as of old. Godfrey, who was of too honest a nature to make a good conspirator, chafed at the part he was being called upon to play, while Teresina, who only knew that she loved, and that her love was not returned, was divided between her affections for the man and a feeling of wounded dignity for herself. “I wish to goodness I could raise sufficient money to get out of London for six months,” said Godfrey, one evening, as they sat together in the studio. “I’d be off like a shot.” Fensden knew why he said this. “I am sorry I can’t help you,” he replied. “I am about as badly off as yourself. But surely the great picture sold well?” “Very well; for me, that is to say,” Godfrey replied. “But I had to part with most of it next day.” He did not add that he had sent most of it to his widowed sister, who was very badly off and wanted help to send her boy to college. A short silence followed; then Fensden said: “If you had money what would you do?” “Go abroad,” said Godfrey quickly. “The strain of this business is more than I can stand. If I had a few hundreds to spare we’d go together and not come back for six months. By that time everything would have settled down to its old normal condition.” How little did he guess that the very thing that seemed so impossible was destined to come to pass! CHAPTER II