Ninitta was grateful to Mrs. Greyson with all the ardor of her passionate southern heart. She did not, it is true, understand the relations between Herman and Helen, but even her jealousy was lost in the gratitude she felt for the beautiful woman who had cared for her, and it is not unlikely saved her from a dangerous illness. It did not seem possible to the undisciplined Italian, versed only in crude, simple emotions, that a woman who was her rival could treat her with tenderness. She accepted Helen's kindness as indisputable proof that the latter did not love the sculptor, a conclusion which the premises scarcely warranted. She volunteered to pose again, and Mrs. Greyson, thinking it well to keep the girl under her influence, and desiring a return to at least the semblance of the peaceful existence preceding the stormy episode just ended, eagerly accepted this offer, only stipulating that the model should undertake nothing until she was really well able. "I shall come back to supper," Dr. Ashton said, as he left his wife. "I have half a mind not to go to Fenton's; only it amuses me to watch the fellow's degeneration." "It never amuses me to watch any degradation," she returned gravely. "How do you know he is degenerating? If you mean by following his wife, why, they may be right after all, and what we call superstition the veriest truth." "Of course," answered he. "I never pretended to administer the exclusive mysteries of truth; but it is always a degradation to yield to personal influence at the expense of conviction. Arthur is as much of a heathen to-day as he ever was, only he is too fond of comfort to have the courage of his opinions." Helen sighed. "Truth to me," she said thoughtfully, "is whatever one sincerely believes; I cannot conceive of any other standard. One man's truth is often another's falsehood." "You are as dull as a preface to-night, Helen; what carking care is gnawing at your vitals?" "Nothing in particular. A certain melancholy is befitting a widow, you know, and that's what I am supposed to be." "On the contrary there is a certain vivacity about the word widow to my mind." "Your experience has been wider than mine. I am aware that I am too much given to vast moral reflections, but you provoke them." "I am sorry to provoke you," he said gayly. "Forgive me before supper time; who knows what rich experiences I may have between now and then. Good-by." As he walked toward his appointment, could Dr. Ashton's vision have reached to the house whither he was going, he would have seen Arthur Fenton and his wife sitting together before an open fire awaiting their guest. The artist was showing Edith a portfolio of sketches by foreign painters, which he had brought from his studio. "What a strange uncanny thing this is," he remarked, holding one up. "It is just like Frontier; I never saw any thing more characteristic. I wonder you got so few of his tricks, Edith, while you studied with him."