"We would have waited for you," interposed Ida; "why didn't you tell us?"
"I did not think for a moment of taking such a liberty," returned the young man. "It would, perhaps, have interfered with your other engagements. Indeed, I scarcely hoped to find you here, but could not deny myself the pleasure of coming in search of you."
"Which is your favorite picture here, Miss Lunettes?" I heard Alloway ask presently.
"Come and see," returned she, and, rising, she added, "come, sister—uncle, we will return, do not disturb yourself."
Loitering along toward them, a while after, I remarked, as I approached, the expressive faces of the group, and their graceful attitudes, as they discussed Cornelia's "favorite," and reflected how much the poetry and beauty that environ youth, when refined by nature and polished by education, surpass the highest achievements of art.
"What innocence in that face! What dewy softness in the steadfast eyes!" exclaimed Cornelia. "The very shoes have an appropriate expression! dear little bird! one can't help loving her, and wanting to know all about her."
"If she were not deaf and dumb," said her cavalier, "I am sure she would rise and make a courtesy to such flattering admirers! I am getting dreadfully jealous of her!"
"You needn't be, as far as I am concerned," retorted Ida; "for my part, I don't like that brown stuff dress! She isn't fixed up a bit, as children always are, when they sit for their portraits." And she tripped away to take another look at her especial admiration—the "Peasants Returning from the Harvest-field," which is, indeed, a gem.
"What does Miss Ida mean?" inquired Alloway, smilingly, of her sister.
"I am sure I don't know," returned Cornelia, "she is full of sentiment, which she always endeavors to hide."