"Just like his poor father!" sighed Kate; "he was always for his originality."
Cornelius also resembled his poor father in the possession of a will of his own. Kate knew it, and wisely gave up the point.
In a few days more Cornelius was free. His tread about the house had another sound; his eyes overflowed with gladness and burned with the hope of coming triumphs. He exulted in the endless sittings we gave him, and amused himself like a child with day-dreams and air-castles. His favourite one—the fame and fortune were both settled—was a skylight.
"Yes, Kate," he once said, looking up at the ceiling, "to keep your brother under your roof, you must knock it down and give him a skylight. Some artists prefer studios in town; but I, domestic man, stick to the household gods: with a skylight you may keep me for ever."
"Conceited fellow!"
"Conceited! now is not this a nice bit of painting?" he drew her to his side and made her face the easel.
"Indeed it is," she replied admiringly: "where will you send it?"
"To the Academy, Kate, the first place or none."
"Oh!" she hastened to answer, "I only fear they may not hang it as well as it deserves. Jealousy, you know, or even want of room."
"There is always room for the really good pictures," replied Cornelius.