If his painting amused him, very good; if not, he found something else that would.
On the following Monday as he worked in the life-class, Vandover was thinking, or, rather, trying not to think, of what he had done the Sunday morning previous when he had gone to communion with Turner Ravis.
For a long time he evaded the thought because he knew that if he allowed it to come into his mind it would worry and harass him.

But by and by the effort of dodging the enemy became itself too disagreeable, so he gave it up and allowed himself to look the matter squarely in the face.
Ah, yes; it was an ugly thing he had done there, a really awful thing.
He must have been still drunk when he had knelt in the chancel.

Vandover shuddered as he thought of this, and told himself that one could hardly commit a worse sacrilege, and that some time he would surely be called to account for it.

But here he checked himself suddenly, not daring to go further.

One would have no peace of mind left if one went on brooding over such things in this fashion.