He was only too glad to do so; glad to be released from the burden of anxiety, as by virtue of some subtle faith in Mrs. Greyson he was; glad of any thing in which he might obey her; glad above all of any bond of common interest which might draw them nearer to each other, even if it were search for the woman who stood between them.
On her way homeward Helen went into Studio Building, but before she had climbed half way to Fenton's room, she encountered Dr. Ashton.
"It is of no use," was his greeting. "He isn't in. His wife has probably taken him to church."
"He was at church this morning," Helen answered, putting her hand into the one Dr. Ashton extended. "I saw him."
"Did you go to church? What a lark."
"It was rather a lark," she assented; "only I got wretchedly blue before the service was done."
"What church was it? Mrs. Fenton looks as if she'd poise dizzily on high church altitudes like the angel on St. Angelo."
"So she does; she goes to the Nativity."
"How did Arthur look?"
"Amused at first; then bored; then cross; and finally, when the sermon was well under way, indignant."