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.
Pages:
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102