"Really, Edith, it would be hard to find, even in Boston, a more incongruous company than we gathered together at dinner to-night."
"There was a good deal of variety," she returned; adding defensively, "but then they fitted together pretty well."
"What a funny old party Miss Penwick is," Arthur went on, inwardly gathering himself up for a rapid retreat. "Almost as soon as she had said, 'how do you do' she asked me what I thought the object of life was."
"How very like her; what did you tell her?"
"Oh, I said I supposed the object of life is to transform the crude animal and vegetable substances of our food into passions and petty sentiments."
Edith laughed absently, her thoughts elsewhere.
"And she looked dreadfully puzzled," Fenton continued, "as to whether she ought to be shocked or not. But bless me, how late it is! Good-night, my dear."
He stretched up his arms in a yawn. Edith turned quickly toward him.
"Arthur," she said abruptly, but with the kindness of her softened mood, "are you painting Ninitta?"
He gave her a startled glance and sat down again in his chair. There ran through his mind a sudden pang of fear, but he said to himself instantly that Edith was not one to suspect evil, and she could not possibly know the truth.