Towards Christmas the great work was finished, and the same party that had met a month before at Strong’s rooms, came together again in Esther’s studio to sit upon and judge the portrait they had suggested.  Mr. Dudley, with some effort, climbed up from his library; Mrs. Murray again acted as chaperon, and even Mr. Murray, whose fancy for pictures was his only known weakness, came to see what Esther had made of Catherine.  The portrait was placed in a light that showed all its best points and concealed as far as possible all its weak ones; and Esther herself poured out tea for the connoisseurs.

To disapprove in such a company was not easy, but Wharton was equal to the task.  He never compromised his convictions on such matters even to please his hosts, and in consequence had given offense to most of the picture-owners in the city of New York.  He showed little mercy now to Esther, and perhaps his attack might have reduced her courage to despair, had she not found a champion who took her defense wholly on his own shoulders.  It happened that Wharton attacked parts of the treatment for which Hazard was responsible, and when Hazard stepped into the lists, avowing that he had advised the work and believed it to be good, Esther was able to retire from the conflict and to leave the two men fighting a pitched battle over the principles of art.  Hazard defended and justified every portion of the painting with a vigor and resource quite beyond Esther’s means, and such as earned her lively gratitude.  When he had reduced Wharton to silence, which was not a difficult task, for Wharton was a poor hand at dispute or argument, and felt rather than talked, Mr. Hazard turned to Esther who gave him a look of gratitude such as she had rarely conferred on any of his sex.

“I think we have ground him to powder at last,” said Hazard with his boyish laugh of delight.

“I never knew before what it was to have a defender,” said she simply.

Meanwhile Strong, who thought this battle no affair of his, was amusing himself as usual by chaffing Catherine.  “I have told my colleague, who professes languages,” said he, “that I have a young Sioux in the city, and he is making notes for future conversation with you.”

“What will he talk about,” asked Catherine; “are all professors as foolish as you?”

“He will be light and airy with you.  He asked me what gens you belonged to.  I told him I guessed it was the grouse gens.  He said he had not been aware that such a totem existed among the Sioux.  I replied that, so far as I could ascertain, you were the only surviving member of your family.”

“Well, and what am I to say?” asked Catherine.

“Tell him that the Rocky Mountains make it their only business to echo his name,” said Strong.  “Have you an Indian grandmother?”

“No, but perhaps I could lariat an old aunt for him, if he will like me better for it.”

“Aunt will do,” said Strong.  “Address the old gentleman in Sioux, and call him the ‘dove with spectacles.’  It will please his soft old heart, and he will take off his spectacles and fall in love with you.  There is nothing so frivolous as learning; nothing else knows enough.”