"Better than me?"
"Are you a thing?"
"You call me a nice little thing, sometimes."
"And so you are," he answered, smiling. "What do you think of that kneeling woman's attitude?"
"Beautiful, like all you do, Cornelius."
"It is beautiful, Daisy; and, alas! that I should say so, the only truly good thing in the whole picture. Well, no matter; with all my short- comings I am still—thank God for it!—a painter."
"And what a triumph awaits you. Oh! Cornelius, how I long to see it!"
He did not reply. Some imperfection in one of the figures had caught his eye; he was endeavouring to remove it, and appeared lost and intent in the task. I withdrew gently, and paused on the threshold of the door to look at him. He stood before his easel, absorbed in his labour; the light fell on his handsome profile and defined it clearly; his eyes, bent on his canvas, looked as if they could behold nothing else; no breath seemed to issue from his parted lips; he was enjoying in its fulness, the delight and the charm which God has placed in the labour dear to the artist's heart.
In a few days more the pictures were finished and sent to the Academy. Cornelius felt no fear. His confidence was justified, for he soon learned, on good authority, that "The Young Girl Reading" and the two Italian pieces were not rejected. He expressed neither surprise nor pleasure. Indeed there was altogether about him an air of indifference and ennui that struck his sister. She went up to him as he stood leaning against the mantelpiece, and laying her hand on her arm, she asked a little anxiously—
"What's the matter, lad? That girl has not been provoking you again; she's but a child, you know, and will grow wiser."