“Well, I can’t understand how a man like that could help anyone, and I was shocked when I heard of your going with him to visit that patient.”
“Marrion, I thought my husband wished me to go.”
“On the contrary, he was hurt. It was not the mere fact of going; it was how it looked to the world, such things are so often misjudged. Forgive me if I talk plainly, but a woman can defend her virtue easier than her reputation. Frost is publicly over-fond of you. He names your beauty to low men at clubs, and that is calculated to injure you.”
“Yes, I wish he lived in another part of the world. He has done me more harm than everybody else in it.”
Then they talked of other things.
“How glad I am that you will pose for the Athlete. Robert will surely win now, for I don’t think you have a counterpart presentment on earth,” she declared.
“To the world’s advantage, no doubt; but tell me,” he said, suddenly changing the subject, “are you happier here?”
“Happier than I have been for some time”—her voice trembled.
In her expression Marrion caught an attempt at excess of content and he wondered at it, for he knew so much of her inner life, though he had never questioned her. In that life he found a great deal to keep her from being glad. He felt a sudden twinge of conscience, too, for he knew that much of the satisfaction he saw upon her face was assumed, lest her sad looks might be construed into a reproach for his coming.
“And how is Robert doing?” he paused, looking at her with half-pitying fondness.