“Is Mr. Irving to help? It looks like that,” answered Estelle, spitefully.
“Is there anything in which I can be of service?” said a voice that made the heart leap in my bosom; but so perfect was my self-control that I finished the shadow upon which I was at work mechanically, as if every nerve in my system were not thrilling like the strings of an instrument.
“We were speaking about humanizing this strange child a little,” said Lady Catherine; “she really has a good deal of originality, as we were saying, and Estelle is quite charmed with the idea of bringing it out.”
My soul was full of scornful ridicule. I felt it breaking up through my eyes, and curving my lip as I looked from Estelle to George Irving. His own face caught the spirit, and he met my glance with a bright smile of intelligence, that others read as well as myself.
“Did you ever try to teach music to a woodlark, dear mother?” he said, stooping down to look at the head I had sketched.
My heart stood still, but I would not permit myself to blush; on the contrary, there was a dry, cold feeling about my lips as if the blood were leaving them; but my gaze was fascinated. I could not turn it from his face, and when the warm crimson rushed up over his brow and temples, as the likeness struck him, my breath was absolutely stopped. I would have given the universe for the power of obliterating my own work from the paper and from his brain. There was anger, reproach, and a dash of scorn in the glance which he turned from the likeness to my face. I trembled from head to foot. The lids drooped like lead over the shame that burned in my eyes; a feeling that he thought my act indelicate scorched me like a fire.
“The likeness does not seem to please you, Mr. Irving,” said Estelle, and her face brightened. “In my humility I had supposed it better than my poor attempt.”
“Oh, it was only a copy, then!” he cried, laughing, and the cloud left his face; “this is your first lesson, and my poor features the subject. You honor them too much; pray whose selection was it?”
“I believe my sketch gave rise to the other,” answered Estelle, casting down her fine eyes, and certainly mistaking the feelings she had excited.
“I am glad of it,” answered Irving, and the glow of his countenance bore proof of his sincerity.