“Very true, ma'am—miss, I mean. I have copied nearly all his great pieces.”
“And the drapery—that robe of the King's—tells me that you have studied another great master of color—am I right, sir, in saying Paul Veronese?”
Simmy Crow's face glowed till it became crimson, while his eyes sparkled with intense delight.
“Oh, dear me!” he exclaimed, “is n't it too much happiness to hear this? and only a minute ago I was in black despair!”
“Mine is very humble criticism, sir; but as I have seen good pictures—”
“Where? In the galleries abroad?” broke in Crow, hurriedly.
“All over Germany and Italy. I travelled with those who really cared for and understood art. But to come back to yours—that head is a noble study.”
“And that's exactly what I'm grieving over,—he's gone.”
“Young Mr. Nelligan?”
“Himself. He started this morning for Oughterard.”