They were both of a rare and fine quality; and the signs of an affection between them, equally rare and fine, had not been lost on those subtler perceptions in Fenwick which belonged perhaps to his heritage as an artist.

If he gave the matter an innocent interpretation, and did not merely say to himself, 'She has lost a husband and found a lover,' it was because the woman herself had awakened in him fresh sources of judgement.

His thoughts simply did not dare besmirch her.
* * * * * The clock struck five; and thereupon a sound of voices on the stairs outside.
'Papa!' said Madame de Pastourelles, jumping up--in very evident relief--her teeth chattering.
The door opened and Lord Findon put in a reconnoitring head.
'May I--or we--come in ?' And behind him, on the landing, Fenwick with a start perceived the smiling face of Arthur Welby.
'I've come to carry off my daughter,' said Findon, with a friendly nod to the artist.

'But don't let us in if you don't want to.' 'Turn me out, please, at once, if I'm in the way,' said Welby.

'Lord Findon made me come up.' It was the first time that Welby had visited the Bernard Street studio.