"No followers are to be allowed. I have forbidden Esther to think of them. She must devote all her time to art, or I shall be severe with her." "But I suppose you don't mean to devote all your own time to art." "I must take care of her," replied Catherine. "Then I have got to write some more sonnets. My hand is getting out in sonnets." "Paris will spoil you; I shall wish you had never left your prairie," said Wharton sadly. "It is you that have spoiled me," replied she. "You have made me self-conscious, and I am going abroad to escape your influence." "Do me a favor when you are there; go to Avignon and Vaucluse; when you come to Petrarch's house, think of me, for there I passed the most hopeless hours of my life." "No, I will not go there to be sad. Sadness is made only for poetry or painting. It is your affair, not mine. I mean to be gay." "Try, then!" said Wharton. "See for yourself how far gayety will carry you. My turn will come! We all have to go over that cataract, and you will have to go over with the rest of us." Catherine peered down into the spray and foam beneath as though she were watching herself fall, and then replied: "I shall stay in the shallowest puddle I can find." "You will one day learn to give up your own life and follow an ideal," said Wharton. Catherine laughed at his solemn speech with a boldness that irritated him. "Men are always making themselves into ideals and expecting women to follow them," said she. "You are all selfish. Tell me now honestly, would you not sell yourself and me and all New York, like Faust in the opera, if you could paint one picture like Titian?" Wharton answered sulkily: "I would like to do it on Faust's conditions." "I knew it," cried she exultingly. "If ever the devil, or any one else," continued Wharton, "can get me to say to the passing moment, 'stay, thou art so fair,' he can have me for nothing. By that time I shall be worth nothing." "Your temper will be much sweeter," interjected Catherine. "Faust made a bargain that any man would be glad to make," growled Wharton. "It was not till he had no soul worth taking that the devil had a chance to win." Catherine turned on him suddenly with her eyes full of humor: "Then that is the bargain you offer us women. You want us to take you on condition that we amuse you, and then you tell us that if we do amuse you, it will be because you are no longer worth taking. Thank you! I can amuse myself better. When we come home from Europe, I am going to buy a cattle ranche in Colorado and run it myself. You and Mr. Strong and Mr. Hazard shall come out there and see it. You will want me to take you on wages as cowboys. I mean to have ten thousand head, and when you see them you will say that they are better worth painting than all the saints and naiads round the Mediterranean."