Hazard and Mr. Wharton. She thought them a sort of
princes, and was still ignorant that such princes were as tyrannical as
any in the Almanach de Gotha, and that those who submitted to them would
suffer slavery. Her innocent eagerness to submit was charming, and the
tyrants gloated over the fresh and radiant victim who was eager to be
their slave. They lured her on, by assumed gentleness, in the path of
bric-a-brac and sermons.
In her want of experience she appealed to Strong, who had not the air
of being their accomplice, but seemed to her a rather weak-minded ally
of her own. Strong had seated her by the window, and was teaching her to
admire his collections, while Wharton and Hazard were talking with the
rest of the party on the other side of the room.
"What kind of an artist is Mr. Wharton?" asked Catherine.
"A sort of superior house-painter," replied Strong. "He sometimes does
glazing."
"Nonsense!" said Catherine contemptuously. "I know all about him. Esther
has told me. I want to know how good an artist he is. What would they
think of him in Paris?"
"That would depend on whether they owned any of his pictures," persisted
Strong. "I think he might be worse. But then I have one of his
paintings, and am waiting to sell it when the market price gets well up.
Do you see it? The one over my desk in the corner. How do you like it?"
"Why does he make it so dark and dismal?" asked Catherine.
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