"They must be very sour," I ventured to observe, in a low tone, "for you seem unable to digest them, Cornelius."
"I beg your pardon," he said, very gravely, "I do not care for celebrity, and do not want to be famous."
"But I do," I warmly answered, "you were asking a while ago about my day- dreams: I will tell you one, a favourite one, of which the fulfilment lies with you:—I am out somewhere; for of course we shall not always live in this quiet way, and I overhear Mrs. H— asking Mrs. G—, in an audible whisper: 'Who is that commonplace-looking girl in white?' 'Something or other to the celebrated artist, Cornelius O'Reilly.' Mrs. H— looks at me with sudden veneration, whilst I give her a compassionate glance, implying 'Who ever heard of Mr. H—?'"
"You saucy girl," said Cornelius, passing his arm around me, but looking down at me, with anything but a displeased face.
"I am not saucy; I am very humble. I am proud by temper, and yet I cannot fancy that if I were to go and earn my bread, it would have a sweeter taste than that you have earned for me so long. I am ambitious, and instead of winning fame for myself, here am I suing you to do it for me!"
"And shall it not be won for you?" he asked, fondly smoothing my hair, "that and anything else you wish for, my darling."
"Then, don't you see," I replied, triumphantly, "that you have got genius?"
"Oh! Daisy," he said sorrowfully, "what brought up that unlucky word?
Look at that figure, cold, lifeless thing, it tells its own story."
I lost all patience. I felt my face flush, and turning round on
Cornelius, I put by at once all the filial reverence of years.
"Cornelius!" I exclaimed, indignantly, "you are as capricious as a spoiled child. How can a man of your age indulge in such whims?"