By the road-side there was a small hovel, at the door of which a half-fed, ill-conditioned pig was squealing. When they were just opposite, a slatternly, carroty-headed woman opened the door, and raised her foot to drive the clamorous beast away. Altogether, it was as squalid and repulsive a picture as could well be imagined. "Yes," replied Lottie, looking into his face with twinkling eyes, "was that sweet pastoral scene an expression of creative thought?" "The woman certainly was not," he answered, reddening. "A thought may be greatly perverted." "Whatever moral qualities may be asserted of her manners, costume, and character," said Harcourt, "she is not to blame for the cast of her features and the color of her hair. I scarcely know of an artist who would express any such thought, unless he wished to satirize humanity." "You can call up before you the portrait of some beautiful woman, can you not, Mr. Harcourt?" "Let me assist you," cried De Forrest, pulling from his inner pocket a photograph of Lottie. "Hush, Julian. I'm sorry you do not appreciate this grave argument more; I'll take that picture from you, if you don't behave better." "Well, I have a picture before me now, that satisfies me fully," said Mr. Harcourt, turning to Lottie with a smiling bow. "Now, suppose that you had painted just such a likeness and finished it. Suppose I should come afterwards, and, without destroying your picture utterly, should blend with those features the forbidding aspect of the woman we have just seen, would you not say that your thought was greatly perverted?" "I should think I would." "Well, Mother Eve was the true expression of the Divine Artist's creative thought, and the woman we saw was the perversion of it. You can trace no evil thing to the source of all good. Perfection is not the author of imperfection." "Who does the perverting, then?" asked Lottie. "Evil." "I don't think it fair that one face and form should be perverted into hideousness, and mother left with something of the first perfection." "Evil is never fair, Miss Marsden." "But is it only evil? I have heard plain children told, when resenting their ugliness, that it was wicked, for they were just as God made them." "Can you think of a better way to make a young girl hate God than to tell her that?" "But suppose it's true." "I am sure it is not. Just the opposite is true. The ugly and deformed are as evil has marred them, and not as God has made them. By seeking the Divine Artist's aid more than humanity's first perfection can be regained. It is possible for even that wretched creature we saw to attain an outward loveliness exceeding that of any woman now living." "That passes beyond the limit of my imagination," said Harcourt. "Absurd!" muttered De Forrest. "I fear you are not orthodox," said Bel.