found that Wharton was not there. Esther
declared that Catherine should not go back; it was ridiculous and
improper; Mr. Wharton would laugh in her face and think her bold and
impertinent; the woman was probably a beggar who wanted to see Mr.
Hazard; and when all this was of no avail Esther insisted that Catherine
should not go alone. Catherine, on her part, declared that she was not
afraid of the woman, or of any woman, or man either, or of Mr. Wharton,
and that she meant to walk down the avenue and meet him, and tell him
that this person was there. She was on the point of doing what she
threatened when they saw Wharton himself cross the church beneath and
slowly climb the stairs.

The two girls, dismissing their alarm as easily as they had taken it up,
turned to their own affairs again. In a few minutes Wharton appeared on
the scaffolding and went to his regular work-place. After a time they
saw him coming to their corner. He looked paler than usual and more
abstracted, and, what was unusual, he carried a brush in his hand, as
though he had broken off his work without thinking what he was doing. He
hardly noticed them, but sat down, holding the brush with both hands,
though it was wet. For some time he looked at the Cecilia without a
word; then he began abruptly:

"You're quite right! It's not good! It's not handled in a large way or
in keeping with the work round it. You might do it again much better.
But it is you and it is she! I would leave it. I will leave it! If
necessary I could in a few days paint it all over and make it harmonize,
but I should spoil it. I can draw better and paint better, but I can't
make a young girl from Colorado as pure and fresh as that. To me
religion is passion. To reach Heaven, you must go through hell, and
carry its marks on your face and figure. I can't paint innocence without
suggesting sin, but you can, and the church likes it. Put your own
sanctity on the wall beside my martyrdom!"

Esther thought it would be civil on her part to say something at this
point, but Wharton's remarks seemed to be made to no one in particular,
and she was not quite certain that they were meant for her in spite of
the words. He did not look at her. She was used to his peculiar moods
and soliloquies, and had learned to be silent at such times. She sat
silent now, but Catherine, who took greater liberties with him, was
bolder.

"Why can't you paint innocence?" she asked.

"I am going to tell you,"