“Surely,” agreed Mr. Eckenrod, giving it up. “But you won’t mind if I come here to finish my paintings? I’m under contract to complete the work by the fifteenth of the month.”
Father Benedict secreted the key in the folds of his robe. “I appreciate your position,” he said. “Nevertheless, we cannot have strangers intruding upon our privacy.”
“Why, everyone around here knows me! Ask anyone about my character and work!”
“I do not question your character, my good man. But I must request you not to come here again.”
“Now see here!” the artist exclaimed, losing his temper again. “You don’t get the idea! My pictures are half done. If I don’t complete the order, I’ll stand to lose months of work.”
“Complete them from the sketches.”
“I can’t do that—the color and feeling would be lost.”
Father Benedict turned as if to leave. “I am sorry,” he said firmly.
“Listen—” Mr. Eckenrod began furiously.
The monk coldly walked away, entering the house.