"It's a very curious thing," said Ludlow, uneasily. "I've noticed that, too; I suppose every one has. But—good-night."
Wetmore followed him out of the studio to the head of the public stairs with a lamp, and Ludlow stopped there again. "Should you think there was anything any one but you would notice?"
"You mean the two girls themselves? Well, I should say, on general principles, that what two such girls didn't see in your work——"
"Of course! Then—what would you do? Would you speak to her about it?"
"Which?"
"You know: Miss Saunders."
"Ah! It seems rather difficult, doesn't it?"
"Confoundedly."
"Why, if you mean to say it was unconscious, perhaps I was mistaken. The thing may have been altogether in my own mind. I'd like to take another look at it——"
"You can't. I've painted it out." Ludlow ran down one flight of the stairs, and then came stumbling quickly back. "I say, Wetmore. Do you tell your wife everything?"