"Nonsense! did you ever know a fair-haired, dark-eyebrowed man or woman to have weak nerves?"
"I know dark eyebrows are a rare charm for a blonde."
"Nonsense! charm!—I tell you it is an indication of character—of energy and wilfulness. It is all very well for the fair, meek hair to say, 'Oh! I'm so quiet;' I say the dark, passionate brow tells me another story, and as Daisy never cries without a reason, I should like to know what she has been crying about."
"Her health affects her spirits, that is all," hastily replied Cornelius; "come up with me, Daisy, it will cheer you."
I obeyed reluctantly. It was some time however before Cornelius took any notice of me. He stood looking at a study for a larger picture begun during my illness. It represented poor children playing on a common, and was to be called "The Happy Time."
"And don't they look happy?" observed Cornelius, turning to me with a smile.
He was perhaps struck with the fact that the child he addressed did not look a very happy one, for, with the abruptness of a thing suddenly remembered, he said—
"By the bye, what did you cry for, Daisy?"
I hung down my head and did not reply.
"Did you hear me?"