My heart beat a little; I could not help being glad. There was nothing in me beyond what there is in every girl from fifteen to twenty; but then this is the golden age of woman, when the youthful grace of the outlines makes the gazer forget their irregularity, and seeing the cheek so fresh and clear, he asks not whether it be dark or fair—when he is charmed by the sense of a being who has not dwelt on earth too long, and gives pleasant welcome to this late arrived guest.
Our first greeting over, Cornelius and I sat down on the wooden bench. The wind came from the west. It blew fresh in our faces, and bowed over us the pine-trees and their rustling branches, through which the slanting rays of the sun behind came warm and pleasant. Our glance rested on a sweep of winding shore, half veiled in light sparkling mists; on that sea which looked so serene, and yet seemed so living and so free in its very repose. Our ear was greeted by the low dash of waves on the beach below, by the murmurs of a breeze that died away far inland amongst low hills and lonely places, and looking up at one another with a smile, we both said what a lovely morning it was. I passed my arm within that of Cornelius, and clasping both my hands over it, I looked up into his face and began a series of questions.
"Tell me all about your pictures and your painting."
A light cloud passed over his brow, as he replied—
"Never mind about the pictures just now, Daisy."
"Well, then," I said, though a little disappointed, "tell me all about
Italy."
"All about it—there's a modest request!"
"Well, then, tell me something. Are the Italian women so handsome?"
"Some are, some are not."
His tone and manner were abstracted. I could not but notice that he was surveying me from head to foot.