Strelitski's expression seemed so stern that for a second it really occurred to Raphael that he might have missed the great event. But before the words were well out of his mouth he remembered that it was an event that made "copy," and little Sampson would have arranged with him as to the reporting thereof.
"No; it's Sunday week. But I didn't come to talk about my religion class at all," he said pettishly, while a shudder traversed his form. "I came to ask if you know anything about Miss Ansell."
Raphael's heart stood still, then began to beat furiously. The sound of her name always affected him incomprehensibly. He began to stammer, then took his pipe out of his mouth and said more calmly;
"How should I know anything about Miss Ansell?"
"I thought you would," said Strelitski, without much disappointment in his tone.
"Why?"
"Wasn't she your art-critic?"
"Who told you that?"
"Mrs. Henry Goldsmith."
"Oh!" said Raphael.