"Such ovations certainly do not prepare one for the church," he murmured, somewhat bitterly.
"Ah, Severinus! I am so happy!" cried Cornelia, frankly. "What open-hearted, gay, magnificent men they are! How I laughed! It is a pity you were not here! Tell me, Father Severinus,--you are sincere,--am I really as beautiful as they all say?" she asked, with mischievous naïveté.
Severinus looked timidly away from her, and with a deep flush fixed his eyes upon the ground. "I do not know."
"You don't know?"
"I think only your soul beautiful, but not your body. Physical beauty is something so perishable that it is unheeded by one who perceives, and knows how to value, that of the soul."
Cornelia became embarrassed. She was ashamed of the want of reserve which had induced her to ask Severinus so inappropriate a question, and did not see the strange glance with which he gazed at her blooming cheeks and lips, and then clinched his teeth.
"Forgive me for disturbing your grave mood with such jests, my reverend friend; but I cannot help it. The gayety natural to my youth will sometimes assert its rights. I was very glad they thought me beautiful. The sight of a lovely face is always a pleasure to me, and the idea that my appearance could also rejoice the eyes and hearts of others pleased me. If this is vanity, is, at least, very innocent."
"Certainly, my child," said Severinus, and his tone gradually lost its assumed harshness. "I will not embitter the harmless little pleasures of your youth. I am sure they will not smother the earnestness of your nature."
"Severinus," said Cornelia, smiling, "isn't it a fact that you do not know what hunger is?"
"No, certainly not. But you seem to know; so come,--let us go to dinner."