"You silly child, that is just what I want," he replied, smiling and chucking my chin: "I don't know what I should do without that little girl," he added, turning to Miriam, "she is a wonderful sitter, not a bad critic—"
"Are you not afraid she will take cold?" interrupted Miriam; "that dress looks thin."
"I trust not," answered Cornelius; "the room is kept warm; she says she is quite warm, but she is so anxious to be of use to me that I can scarcely trust her. Oh, Daisy! I hope you have not been deceiving me."
He made me lie down on the couch, drew it by the fire, threw over me a shawl that was kept in the studio for that purpose, and wrapped me in its folds. I smiled at his anxiety; Miriam looked on with surprise, as if she had forgotten that Cornelius was fond of me.
"I am so thankful to you for mentioning it," he said, turning towards her, "I am forgetful of these things; but if anything were to happen to Daisy, even for the sake of the best picture man ever painted, I should never forgive myself. How do you think she looks?"
"Sallow, as usual," she replied, in passing by me to leave us.
"You are not going yet," he said, going up to her, "you know I want to convert you to Art."
"Not to-day," she replied coldly, and, disengaging her hand from his, she left the studio.
Cornelius came back to the fireplace and looked pensive. I attempted to rise.
"No," he said quickly, "you must not sit any more to-day."