"Nothing, thank you," I replied, languidly.
"A book?" he persisted; "no! well then a rosewood workbox—a desk? I have some money, child; look."
He drew out his purse and showed it to me, but I thanked him and refused.
"Is there nothing you would like?" he asked.
"I should like to know the subject of your next picture."
"As if I should paint but one," he replied, gaily; and he proceeded to describe to me, in a few graphic words, a magnificent collection of Holy Families, grand historical battles, tragic stories, dewy landscapes, exquisite domestic scenes, until, charmed by their variety, but rather startled by their number, I exclaimed—
"Cornelius, it will take a gallery to hold them all."
"Let us build one then," he replied, striving to repress a smile, "and whenever you feel dull, as you did this evening, we will take a walk in it. Look at her, Kate," he added, addressing his sister, "don't you think she seems better?"
"I think," answered Kate, rather astonished, "that I never saw you lay yourself out for a girl or woman, as you did this evening for that little pale face. My opinion is, that the foolish way in which she goes on about your pictures has won your heart."
"Since you have found it out, Kate, it is useless to deny it. I am waiting for Daisy. Am I not?" he added, turning to me with a smile.