"That is according to how we look at love," said the German; "with you it is all a solemn epic or tragedy. With me it would be a pretty little poem or a happy song."
Leslie sighed but did not answer.
"Come, now," said the German, "we have wandered from our subject. Give up your selfishness this once, Leslie, and take a holiday. Come with me to Paris next week."
Leslie stood silently meditating, and Carl saw that the battle was almost won.
"Don't hesitate," said he, pushing his advantage. "Indeed you work too hard, my boy. There is no need of it since you have forsworn marriage. Take a breathing spell and come with me to Paris and paint old Mrs. Carlyle's portrait."
Leslie frowned slightly at the words.
"Pray do not mention those people again," he said, in an irritated tone. "Perhaps I will accompany you to Paris; but I have no fancy to paint the portrait of a wrinkled old woman."
[CHAPTER XXV.]
"Confound the impudence of such fellows!" said Colonel Carlyle, fretfully, as he entered his wife's morning-room.