LIONEL (grumbling).—“I did not come here to be made a doll of.”
VANCE.—“Coax him to be quiet, Miss Sophy, and sleep peaceably, or I shall do him a mischief. I can be a Rugge, too, if I am put out.”
SOPHY (in the softest tones).—“Do try and sleep, sir: shall I get you a pillow?”
LIONEL.—“No, thank you: I’m very comfortable now,” settling his head upon his arm; and after one upward glance towards Sophy, the lids closed reluctantly over his softened eyes. A ray of sunshine came aslant through the half-shut window, and played along the boy’s clustering hair and smooth pale cheek. Sophy’s gaze rested on him most benignly.
“Just so,” said Vance; “and now be silent till I have got the attitude and fixed the look.”
The artist sketched away rapidly with a bold practised hand, and all was silent for about half-an-hour, when he said, “You May get up, Lionel; I have done with you for the present.”
SOPHY.—“And me too—may I see?”
VANCE.—“No, but you may talk now. So you had a doll? What has become of it?”
SOPHY.—“I left it behind, sir. Grandfather thought it would distract me from attending to his lessons and learning my part.”
VANCE.—“You love your grandfather more than the doll?”