well if she tried to imitate his own
manner.

"You know I wanted Miss Dudley to put more religious feeling and force
into her painting," said he, "but you all united and rode me down."

"I will look like a real angel this time," said Catherine. "Now I know
what it is you want."

"I am more than half on her side," went on Wharton. "I am not sure that
she is wrong. It all comes to this: is religion a struggle or a joy? To
me it is a terrible battle, to be won or lost. I like your green dress
with the violets. Whose idea was that?"

"Petrarch's. You know I am Laura. St. Cecilia has the dress which Laura
wore in church when Petrarch first saw her."

"No!" said Wharton, after another pause, and long study of the two
figures. "Decidedly I will not rub you out; but I mean to touch up
Petrarch."

"O! You won't spoil the likeness!"

"Not at all! But if I am going to posterity by your side I want some
expression in my face. Petrarch was a man of troubles."

"You promise not to change the idea?"

"I promise to look at you as long as you look at me," said Wharton
gloomily.

Meanwhile Esther had a talk with Mr. Hazard which left her more in doubt
than ever as to what she had best do. He urged her to begin something
new and to do it in a more strenuous spirit.

"You are learning from Wharton," said he. "Why should you stop at the
very moment when you have most to gain?"

"I am learning nothing but what I knew before," she answered sadly. "He
can teach only grand art and I am fit only for trifles."

"Try one more figure!"

Esther shook her head.

"My Cecilia is a failure," she went on. "Mr. Wharton said it would be,
and he was right. I should do no better next time, unless I took his
design and carried it out exactly as he orders."

"One's first attempt is always an experiment. Try once more!"

"I should only spoil your church. In the middle of your best sermon your
audience would see you look up here and laugh."

"You are challenging compliments."

"What I could do nicely would be to paint squirrels and monkeys playing
on vines round the choir, or daisies and buttercups in a row, with one
tall daisy in each group of five. That is the way for a woman to make
herself useful."

"Be serious!"

"I feel more solemn than Mr. Wharton's great figure of John of Patmos. I
am going home to burn my brushes and break my palette. What is the use
of trying to go forward when one feels iron bars across one's face?"

"Be