This time Mrs. Taylor flushed faintly.  She realized that their relations had reached a critical point, and that the next step might be fatal.  She put down her teacup, and leaning forward, said with smiling confidential eagerness, “I don’t.  I wouldn’t admit it to anyone else.  But what’s the use of mincing matters with an intelligent woman like you?  I might put you off now, and declare that Benham is well enough.  But you would soon divine what I really think, and that would be the end of confidence between us.  I like honesty and frankness, and I can see that you do.  My opinion of Benham architecture is that it is slip-shod and mongrel.  There!  You see I put myself in your hands, but I do so because I feel sure you nearly agree with me already.  You know it’s so, but you hate to acknowledge it.”

Selma’s eyes were bright with interest.  She felt flattered by the appeal, and there was a righteous assurance in Mrs. Taylor’s manner which was convincing.  She opened her mouth to say something—­what she did not quite know—­but Mrs. Taylor raised her hand by way of interdiction.

“Don’t answer yet.  Let me show you what I mean.  I’m as proud of Benham as anyone.  I am absorbed by the place, I look to see it fifty years hence—­perhaps less—­a great city, and a beautiful city too.  Just at present everything is commercial and—­and ethical; yes, ethical.  We wish to do and dare, but we haven’t time to adorn as we construct.  That is, most of us haven’t.  But if a few determined spirits—­women though they be—­cry ‘halt,’ art may get a chance here and there to assert herself.  Look at this,” she said, gliding across the room and holding up a small vase of exquisite shape and coloring, “I picked it up on the other side and it stands almost for a lost art.  The hands and taste which wrought it represent the transmitted patience and skill of hundreds of years.  We like to rush things through in a few weeks on a design hastily conceived by a Mr. Pierce because we are so earnest.  Now, we won’t do it this time, will we?”

“No, we won’t,” said Selma.  “I see what you mean.  I was afraid at first that you didn’t give us credit for the earnestness—­for the ethical part.  That’s the first thing, the great thing according to my idea, and it’s what distinguishes us from foreigners,—­the foreigners who made that vase, for instance.  But I agree with you that there’s such a thing as going too fast, and very likely some of the buildings here aren’t all they might be.  We don’t need to model them on foreign patterns, but we must have them pretty and right.”

“Certainly, certainly, my dear.  What we should strive for is originality—­American originality; but soberly, slowly.  Art is evolved painfully, little by little; it can’t be bought ready-made at shops for the asking like tea and sugar.  If we invite designs for the new church, we shall give the youths of the country who have ideas seething in their heads a chance to express themselves.  Who knows but we may unearth a genius?”