"He loved me so much," poor Ninitta repeated murmuringly, "he loved me so much." And all that day she followed Helen with wistful eyes, as if she longed to hear her say again those precious words. "I cannot tell you what it was like in Paris," she said at another time. "In Rome they all knew me. They knew I was betrothed, and no one ever troubled me. But in Paris it was different. Oh, I hate Paris! And it was so cruel that he was not there. It was so dreadful that he should be on the other side of that horrible sea!" The girl was so self-forgetful in these revelations, she spoke always with such an unshaken faith in Herman and was so free from any thought of blaming him, that Helen could not but be touched. She soothed poor Ninitta as well as she was able, having power to promise nothing, seeing no way out of the entanglement, yet at least showing to the lonely Italian that her woman's heart bled for her sorrow if she might not alleviate it. Sometimes she felt like going to the sculptor and entreating him to take pity upon the girl who so adoringly loved him. Once when the model had told her how just as she had saved by long, painful economy, nearly money enough to pay the passage to America it was stolen and she was forced to begin the slow process over again, Helen impulsively left her studio and found herself on the very threshold of Herman's door before she realized what she had been about to do. By what authority was she to interfere in a matter like this? If Ninitta loved the sculptor who had long ago ceased to return her affection, could matters be helped by an unloving marriage? It was not for her, moreover, to give unasked her advice to such a man as she knew Grant Herman to be. If he consulted her, she reflected, she might present the pathetic, touching story which Ninitta had told her, but she had plainly no pretext for forcing her feelings upon her master unsought. She turned and went slowly up the stairs toward her little room; but suddenly she paused. She had all at once become conscious that she desired eagerly to know the nature of the sculptor's feelings toward his old love. Why, she asked herself, was she so interested in what after all did not personally concern her. A quick emotion, almost too vague to be called a thought, made her cheek flame. "No, no," she said half aloud. "It is only that I am touched by Ninitta's sadness. It is nothing more." But her breath came more quickly, and it was with difficulty that upon re-entering her studio she assumed a quiet mien, lest her model should guess at her unfulfilled errand. On the morning following the meeting of the Pagans at her rooms, Helen was alone in her studio. She had told Ninitta she should be late and the latter was therefore tardy in arriving. Mrs. Greyson uncovered her bas-relief, now rapidly nearing completion, and stood before it, examining critically its merits and defects. A familiar step in the passage, a tap at the door, and Grant Herman joined her.