"I wish you would explain these sketches to me."
He sat down by me; leaned one arm on the back of my chair, and, with the hand that was free, turned over the sketches, giving a few words of brief but graphic explanation to each. He allowed me to admire them, but made no comment of his own. At length the pleasant task was ended; Cornelius rose and put away the portfolio; I was thinking with inward self- gratulation that he had forgotten all about the picture, when to my dismay he said very quietly—
"Daisy, you have not told me what you think of my Mary Stuart."
"Have I not?"
"No, indeed. Whilst Kate was here you looked at it, but never opened your lips; when I came back, I found you sitting with your back to it, intent over these sketches, mere foolish trifles, Daisy, with which I relaxed my mind from graver labours; so pray forget them, look at Mary Stuart, and give me, without flattery of course, your candid opinion."
Here was a predicament! I came out with—
"A picture of yours cannot but be good, Cornelius."
"Thank you, Daisy, but that is stating a fact, not giving me your opinion."
"I dare not give an opinion."
"Very modest; but you know whether you like a thing or not; ergo, do you or do you not like Mary Stuart?"