As often as the sculptor unclosed his lips, such words as these were ready to burst out:--"Hilda, have you flung your angelic purity into that mass of unspeakable corruption, the Roman Church ?" "What were you saying ?" she asked, as Kenyon forced back an almost uttered exclamation of this kind.
"I was thinking of what you have just remarked about the cathedral," said he, looking up into the mighty hollow of the dome.

"It is indeed a magnificent structure, and an adequate expression of the Faith which built it.

When I behold it in a proper mood,--that is to say, when I bring my mind into a fair relation with the minds and purposes of its spiritual and material architects,--I see but one or two criticisms to make.

One is, that it needs painted windows." "O, no!" said Hilda.

"They would be quite inconsistent with so much richness of color in the interior of the church.