He had stayed at home under the pretense of writing letters, and now returned to the sitting-room, where Esther was sketching from the window a view of the cataract.  She went quietly on with her work, while he sat down to write as well as his conscience would allow him; for now that he saw how much good Esther’s escape had done her, how quiet she had become again, and how her look of trouble had vanished, leaving only a tender little air of gravity, as she worked in the silence of her memories; and when he thought how violently this serenity was likely to be disturbed, his conscience smote him, he bitterly regretted his interference, and roundly denounced himself for a fool.

“Does Mr. Wharton really care for Catherine?” asked Esther, as she went on with her sketch.

“I guess he thinks he does,” answered Strong.  “He looks at her as though he would eat her.”

“What a pity!”

“He is tough!  Don’t waste sympathy on him!  If she took him, he would make her a slave within a week.  As it is, his passion will go into his painting.”

“She is a practical young savage,” said Esther.  “I thought at one time she was dazzled by him, but the moment she saw how unfit she was for such a man, she gave it up without a pang.”

“I don’t see her unfitness,” replied Strong.  “She has plenty of beauty, more common sense than he, and some money which would help him amazingly except that he would soon spend it.  I should say it was he who wanted fitness, but you can’t harness a mustang with a unicorn.”

“He wants me to study in Paris,” said Esther; “but I mean to go to Rome and Venice.  I am afraid to tell him.”

“When do you expect to be there?”

“Some time in May, if we can get any one to take us.”

“Perhaps I will look you up in the summer.  If I do not go to Oregon, I may run over to Germany.”

“We shall be terribly homesick,” replied Esther.

Silence now followed till Strong finished his letters and looked again at his watch.  It was four o’clock.  “If he is coming,” thought Strong, “it is time he were here; but I would draw him a check for his church if he would stay away.”  The jingling of sleigh-bells made itself heard on the road below as though to rebuke him, and presently a cry of fright from Esther at the window told that she knew what was before her.

“What shall I do?” she cried breathlessly.  “Here he is!  I can’t see him!  I can’t go through that scene again.  George! won’t you stop him?”

“What under the sun are you afraid of?” said Strong.  “He’ll not shoot you!  If you don’t mean to marry him, tell him so, and this time make it clear.  Let there be no mistake about it!  But don’t send him away if you mean to make yourself unhappy afterwards.”

“Of course I am going to be unhappy afterwards,” groaned Esther.  “What do you know about it, George?  Do you think I feel about him as you would about a lump of coal?  I was just beginning to be quiet and peaceful, and now it must all start up again.  Go away!  Leave us alone!  But not long!  If he is not gone within an hour, come back!”