"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."
"He always repelled me. I was afraid of him. Where did you get this sketch?"
"Dr. Ashton gave it to me."
"Dr. Ashton!"
"Yes; when he was in Paris, both he and his wife were intimate with
Frontier. Or at least Will was."
"Oh, Arthur!"