Kate's face expressed the deepest disappointment.
"History is a grand thing, Cornelius."
"And Home is lovely."
She said he knew best, but that he would never surpass Mary Stuart.
Cornelius did not reply, and put away the portfolio with a smile at me. Then we all three went out into the garden, where we lingered until the noon-day heat sent us in: that is to say, Kate and I, for Cornelius, accustomed to an Italian sun, remained out, walking up and down the gravel path, and every now and then making long pauses of rest by the back parlour window, near which we sat sewing. Once Kate, called away by some domestic concern, left us; he stood on the side facing me, his elbow resting on the low window; he looked long, then smiled.
"Well!" I said.
"Well," he replied, "it would make a pretty picture; you sitting there sewing by the window, with the cool shady back-ground of the room, a glimpse of the bright sunny garden beyond."
"And you standing there looking in, leaning on the window-sill, and the warm sunshine upon you, Cornelius."
"Yes," said the pleasant voice of Kate, now coming in, "that would complete the picture." Then she suddenly added, "Cornelius, are you not tired?"
"Not at all; I rested in London, you know."