I'll tell you if you wish to know.

It was Penrhyn Cardemon!...

And I was eighteen years old." Valerie dropped her book in astonishment.
"Penrhyn Cardemon!" she repeated.

"Why, he isn't an artist!" "He has a studio." "Where ?" "On Fifth Avenue." "What does he do there ?" "Deviltry." Valerie's face was blank; Rita sat sullenly cradling one knee in her arms, looking at the floor, her soft, gold hair hanging over her face and forehead so that it shadowed her face.
"I've meant to tell you for a long time," she went on; "I would have told you if Cardemon had ever sent for you to--to pose--in his place." "He asked me to go on _The Mohave_." "I'd have warned you if Louis Neville had not objected." "Do you suppose Louis knew ?" "No.

He scarcely knows Penrhyn Cardemon.