"What a shame!" I exclaimed indignantly.
"No, my dear; Miriam does well to give me her candid opinion; I hope it is what you will always do."
"But, Cornelius," I ventured to object, "do you think Miss Russell knows much about painting?"
"To tell you the truth," confidently answered Cornelius, "I do not think she does. She has natural taste, but no experience. Now you," he added, turning to me with a smile, "you, my pet, though such a child, know of painting about ten times as much as she does, and, although it would not do to say so to her, I could trust to your opinion ten times sooner than to hers."
I was foolish enough to be pleased with this.
"I hope," continued Cornelius, "to be able to improve her taste; in the meanwhile, I think, like you, Daisy, that Medora is almost equal to the Stolen Child."
I had never said anything of the kind, but Cornelius was evidently convinced I had, and I knew not how to set him right.
"Yes," he resumed, looking at the picture, "it improves as you look at it. That little bit of rock-work in the foreground is not amiss, is it, Daisy?"
"It is just like the rocks at Leigh," I replied.
"Is it though?" exclaimed Cornelius, chucking my chin, a sign of great pleasure, "I am glad of it; not that I care about the rocks, not a pin; but it is always satisfactory to know that one is true to nature, even in minor points. And so there were some like them at Leigh! Well, no matter; I gave of course my chief attention to the figure, and that I think is pretty well."