He was humming carelessly once more, and putting his brush to the canvas before him, when his aunt remarked, "There, Arthur! now that you are reasonable, I'll tell you what I meant." The artist looked over his shoulder and laughed.
"Go on, dear aunt." "I understand now why you don't go to our church." It was a remark so totally unexpected that Arthur stopped short and turned quite round.
"What do you mean, Aunt Winnifred ?" "I mean," said she, holding up the study as if to overwhelm him with resistless proof, "I mean, Arthur--and I could cry as I say it--that you are a Roman Catholic!" Aunt Winnifred, who was an exemplary member of the Dutch Reformed Church, or, as Arthur gayly called her to her face, a Dutch Deformed Woman, was too simple and sincere in her religious faith to tolerate with equanimity the thought that any one of the name of Merlin should be domiciled in the House of Sin, as she poetically described the Church of Rome.
"Arthur! Arthur! and your father a clergyman.

It's too dreadful!" And the tender-hearted woman burst into tears.
But still weeping, she waved the picture in melancholy confirmation of her assertion.

Arthur was amused and perplexed.
"My dear aunt, what has put such a droll idea into your head ?" "Because--because," said Aunt Winnifred, sobbing and wiping her eyes, "because this picture, which you keep locked up so carefully, is a picture of the Holy Virgin.

Oh dear! just to think of it!" There was a fresh burst of feeling from the honest and affectionate woman, who felt that to be a Roman Catholic was to be visibly sealed and stamped for eternal woe.

But there was an answering burst of laughter from Arthur, who staggered to a sofa, and lay upon his back shouting until the tears also rolled from his eyes.
His aunt stopped, appalled, and made up her mind that he was not only a Catholic but a madman.