"I am come back," I cried, "indeed I am."
"I see and feel it; but is it for good?"
"To be sure."
She kissed me heartily, then pushed me away and said, "there was no getting rid of that girl, but that she knew well enough Cornelius would not come back without her," then she turned to the two petitioners, bade them be off and never show their faces again, and ended by telling them to call for some cold meat on Monday. This matter dispatched, she shut the door and followed us in. As we passed through the garden, I saw with surprise that it was no longer separated from its neighbour.
"No," said Kate, with some pride, "it is now one garden and one dwelling, Daisy. No more tenants, you know. I like room. Are you too tired to come and see the changes I have made?"
We both said "No," and Miss O'Reilly took us over the whole house at once. It was much larger, and much improved; we had parlours to spare now; drawing-rooms elegantly furnished, bed-rooms more than we needed; so that, as Kate said, if any old friend came from Ireland—though she was afraid they must be all dead, for they never came—or if those two good friends of Cornelius, Schwab and Armari, should leave fair Italy for smoky London, they could be accommodated easily. Thus talking carelessly, Miss O'Reilly took us to the top of the house, where we found the old dream of Cornelius fairly realised: several rooms thrown into one, with a skylight. She laughed at his surprise; pushed him away, and told him to keep his distance when he kissed her, then suddenly flung her arms around his neck and embraced him ardently.
We returned to our old life on the very next day, as if it had known no interruption. I sat to Cornelius, who painted with renewed ardour; towards dusk he took me out walking; when evening had fairly set in, he gave me my Italian lesson, and when that was over, he sang and played or read aloud. He never seemed to think of going out; one evening, when his sister insisted on making him leave us, he returned at the end of ten minutes. "He had not been able," he said, "to get beyond the end of the grove. There was, after all, no place like home."
"Domestic man!" observed Kate, smiling as he sat down by me on my sofa.
Without seeming to hear her, he took up Shakespeare from the table, and began reading aloud the most fervent and beautiful passages from Romeo and Juliet. Then he suddenly closed the book and turning on me, asked how I liked the story of the two Italian lovers.
"Were they not a little crazy, Cornelius?" I replied; "but I suppose love always makes people more or less ridiculous."