"Why, how flushed and animated you look!" said Cornelius, with an amused smile, as he put away the drawings.
"Cornelius," I said eagerly.
"Daisy."
"Don't you think that if you like—" I paused: he was not attending to me.
"I hear you," he observed, stooping to pick up a stray drawing,—"don't I think that if I like—"
"Don't you think that if you like you may become as great a painter as
Raffaelle or Michael Angelo?"
I spoke seriously and waited for his reply, as if it were to decide the question. Cornelius looked at me with his drawing in his hand; he tried to laugh, but only reddened violently.
"You ambitious little thing!" he said, "what has put Raffaelle or Michael
Angelo into your head?"
"Papa told me they were the two greatest painters, but I don't see why you should not be as great as either of them."
"One can be great and yet be unlike them;—ay, and be famous too!"