He sighed profoundly.
"The historic style," cried Miss O'Reilly, kindling; "Cornelius, you have hit the true thing at last: depend upon it you have. Of course you have been too humble! give them something bold and dashing, and let us see what they'll say to that! Go to Rome, Cornelius, go to Rome."
"The means, Kate, the means!"
"Bless the boy! As if I had not money."
"Oh! Kate! you have done more than enough for me as it is," he replied, crimsoning; "it makes my blood boil to think that I shall soon be twenty- five—"
"Nonsense!" she interrupted hastily, "will you go to Rome, study the great masters, see all that painting has achieved of most glorious, become a great painter yourself—or stay at home and plod on?"
His varying countenance told how strong was the temptation: his look lit, his colour came and went like that of a girl.
"Yes or no?" decisively said Kate.
"Well, then,—yes," he replied desperately; "I know it is mean, but I cannot help it, the thought of it has for weeks kept me awake at night, and haunted me day after day."
"And you never told me," reproachfully interrupted his sister, "and never would if Midge had not found it out!"