"I don't know anything about that," he said, at length; "but I can go on with the Stolen Child, and I hope to go on quickly too, Daisy sits so well, you know."
"I know she is as bad as you are; look at her swallowing down her tea as fast as she can, to be in time."
"She is a good little thing," he replied, patting my neck, "though I cannot say she yet thoroughly knows what constitutes a good picture. Don't hurry, Daisy; there is plenty of time."
"But I am quite ready," I replied eagerly.
"So am I; let us see who shall be upstairs first."
"Cornelius, how can you be such a boy?" began Kate; I lost the rest, I had started up, and was hastening upstairs all out of breath. Cornelius, who could have outstripped me with ease, followed with pretended eagerness, and laughed at my triumph.
"I was first," I cried from the landing, and flushed and breathless I looked round at him, as he stood on the staircase a few steps below me: he gave me a pleased and surprised look.
"Why, that child would be quite pretty if she had a colour," he observed to himself; "poor little thing!" he added as he came up and stood by me, "I wish I could keep that bloom on your little pale face: but it is already going—the more's the pity!"
"Indeed," I replied, "it is no pity at all, for the pale face is much the best for the picture."
This disinterested sentiment did not in the least surprise Cornelius, who was too much devoted to his painting to think anything too good for it, or any sacrifice too great. He confessed the pale face would make the picture more pathetic, and was not astonished at my preferring it on that account.