In this joyous mood she came to the studio. A sudden thought darted through her mind, with no apparent connection, of the talk of the night previous, and for an instant her face clouded; but the exhilaration of the morning and the reaction from the sad, overstrained state in which her husband had left her, both helped her to throw off all mournful thoughts. Ninitta had not arrived, and Mrs. Greyson busied herself about the bas-relief, preparing for work. Suddenly the tap of Grant Herman sounded upon her door. "Good morning," he said, entering in response to her invitation. "I knew by your step that you were in good spirits, and it gave me so much pleasure to think you were glad to be back, that I had to come up." "I am in good spirits," she returned. "It is such a glorious morning, and Ninitta has kept me away from my work long enough for me to be very glad to return to it." "What of Ninitta?" he asked, a shadow coming over his fine face. "She is not still with you?" "No, but she is coming to pose this morning, though I hardly think she is strong enough." The sculptor took in his hands a bit of clay and began nervously to model it into various shapes. "Why did you take her home, Mrs. Greyson?" he asked after a moment's silence. "Because she needed me," Helen answered. "And besides," she added hesitatingly, "I thought you would like her to be under my care." "Did you?" he returned eagerly. "I was more grateful to you than you would let me tell you! I--" He broke off abruptly as if determined to keep himself from any dangerous demonstrativeness. "Come into my studio a moment," said he, throwing down the clay he held. "I have something to show you." Helen followed willingly, glad to avoid the chance of their being interrupted by the arrival of Ninitta, whose jealousy might easily be aroused again. The sculptor led the way through a couple of chambers, bringing her out at the top of the stairs leading down in the corner of his studio. The morning sun shone in through the window far up in the side wall, tinged to rich colors by the stained glass which Herman had set there. The statues and casts looked in the light coming from above them, as if they had just emerged from garments of shadows which yet lay fallen about their feet. Helen uttered an exclamation of admiration. "How charming the studio is in this light," she said. "It is like looking down into a ghost world." "It is a ghost world," was the response. "It has long been haunted, but I had not supposed that any eyes but my own saw the wraiths which dwell here." The vibratory quality in his voice warned her not to answer. She felt that she stood upon the brink of a significant interview, yet she lacked the resolution to turn back.