"Nonsense!" drily said Kate, "you'd do like your Mamma, run away, if one attempted to keep you."
I denied it indignantly; she insisted. I was beginning to utter a most vehement protest against the mere idea of ever forsaking Cornelius, when he interfered, and informed me that his paternal pride and feelings would be wounded to the quick at the idea of my remaining an old maid. He appealed to my sense of filial duty; I generously sacrificed myself, but not without making some preliminary conditions.
"He must be an Irishman," I said.
"Ah!" observed Cornelius, stroking his chin, "he must be an Irishman!"
"Yes, and an artist."
Cornelius looked uncomfortable, but he merely echoed—
"An artist!"
"Yes, and his name must be Cornelius."
Cornelius looked disconcerted.
"Nonsense!" sharply said Kate, "what are you talking of? an Irishman—an artist—name Cornelius? nonsense!"