"What are you doing here?"
"I was looking at these," I replied in some confusion.
"Then you were taking a great liberty."
I silently began to restore the drawings to the portfolio; he said shortly—
"They will do on the floor." And he walked across them to the window.
"Cornelius," I observed, timidly, "you are standing on the head of the poor Italian boy, and you are going to tread on the flower-girl."
"They are only fit to burn," was his misanthropic reply.
"Let me take them away," I urged.
He seemed disposed to answer angrily, but he restrained himself and stepped aside. I removed the drawings, carefully replaced them in the portfolio, gently slipped in a few more, then stole up a glance at Cornelius: he was looking down at me with a displeased face.
"Lay down that portfolio," he said.