"And those verses on Niagara are so pretty! Papa took Maggie and me to the Falls last summer, and I did like them so much! Oh, dear me! they are so sweet!"
Mr. Randall laughed outright. Miss Felice looked up in astonishment, but just at that moment little Jennie came running in with something in her hand.
"Oh Licie! look what I have got—such a lovely picture of the most beautiful lady ever was! Just look."
"What an angelic face!" impulsively exclaimed Mr. Randall; "a perfect Madonna! And only a pencil drawing, too! Why, Miss Leonard, this is something exquisite—a perfect little gem! I never saw anything more lovely."
"Where did you get it, Jennie?" said Miss Felice.
"In the hall; it's Miss Randall's—she dropped it coming out of the school-room. I'm going to ask her to give it to me; she can make plenty more."
"Is it possible the artist resides here? You don't mean to say that——"
"Oh, it's only the governess," said Miss Felice; "she draws and paints very well indeed. By the way, she's a namesake of yours, too, Mr. Randall. Yes, I see now it is one of her drawings; I could tell them anywhere."
The poet was gazing in a sort of rapture at the picture. The soft eyes and sweet, beautiful lips seemed smiling upon him—the face seemed living and radiant before him.
"Why, one would think you were enchanted, Mr. Randall," said Miss Felice, half pouting. "It's fortunate it's only a picture and not a living face, or your doom would be sealed."