From whatever cause, the fact was, that as he painted this morning and
reflected, with a complacency of which he was too keen an analyst not
to know he should have been ashamed, how he had secured the model he
desired despite her husband, the speculation came into his mind how far
he could push his influence over Ninitta. At first a mere impersonal
idea, the thought was instantly, by his habit of mental definiteness,
realized so clearly that his cheek flushed, partly, it is to be said to
his credit, with genuine shame. He looked at the beautiful model, and
turned away his eyes. Then, hardly conscious of what he was doing, he
laid down his palette, and took a step forward.

At that instant the studio bell rang sharply. He started with so
terrible a sense of being discovered in a crime, that his jaw trembled
and his knees almost failed under him.

Then instantly he recovered his self-possession, although his heart was
beating painfully, and looked up at the clock.

"Heavens!" he exclaimed. "I had no idea how late it was! It is that
beastly Irons for his last sitting. I'd forgotten all about him."

Ninitta rose from her position and hurried toward the screen behind
which she dressed.

"Don't let him in," she said. "He knows me."

The bell rang again, as they stood looking at each other.

"I will try to send him off," Arthur said. "Dress as quickly as you
can."