from Kansas, who had come out to develop at Rome the genius recognised
at Topeka. They decided together that it would be best to have something
ideal, and the sculptor promptly imagined and rapidly executed a design
for a winged Victory, poising on the summit of a white marble shaft, and
clasping its hands under its chin, in expression of the grief that mingled
with the popular exultation. Miss Kilburn had her doubts while the work
went on, but she silenced them with the theory that when the figure was in
position it would be all right.

Now that she saw it in position she wished to ask Mr. Bolton what was
thought of it, but she could not nerve herself to the question. He remained
silent, and she felt that he was sorry for her. "Oh, may I be very humble;
may I be helped to be very humble!" she prayed under her breath. It
seemed as if she could not take her eyes from the figure; it was such a
modern, such an American shape, so youthfully inadequate, so simple, so
sophisticated, so like a young lady in society indecorously exposed for
a _tableau vivant_. She wondered if the people in Hatboro' felt all
this about it; if they realised how its involuntary frivolity insulted the
solemn memory of the slain.

"Drive on, please," she said gently.

Bolton pulled the reins, and as the horses started he pointed with his whip
to a church at the other side of the green. "That's the new Orthodox
church," he explained.

"Oh, is it?" asked Miss Kilburn. "It's very handsome, I'm sure." She was
not sensible of admiring the large Romanesque pile very much, though it
was certainly not bad, but she remembered that Bolton was a member of the
Orthodox church, and she was grateful to him for not saying anything about