I opened them a little on hearing him speak so. He quietly took out my comb; my hair rolled down in waves below my waist; he surveyed it admiringly, with a glance in which blended the fondness of a father for his pet child and the ever-observant eye of the artist.
"A pretty little effect, so," he added, "especially with your startled look, reminding one of Cervantes' Dorothea."
"So she does!" said Miss O'Reilly, coming up from behind.
She kissed her brother, and looking at me as I rose to do up my hair, "It is like her father's," she added with a subdued sigh, "but not quite so bright."
"Why did you never write to me that Daisy was so much improved?" asked Cornelius, perhaps to divert her thoughts.
"Because I knew you had eyes of your own to find it out," answered his sister smiling. "And now don't sit looking at the girl, as if she were a beauty; she has grown tall and has good health, that is all."
"All! is not that a great deal?"
"Of course it is; but I came to tell you breakfast is waiting, and not to talk about Daisy's looks."
We went in to breakfast; I sat opposite Cornelius and could scarcely take my eyes off his face; he could not help smiling now and then, but Miss O'Reilly chose to be in a pet about it.
"Don't be foolish, Midge! I wish, Cornelius, you would mind what I say, instead of paying so much attention to that silly girl. When do you mean to have that case opened?"
"In a day or two."
"Nonsense! you don't think I am going to wait a day or two to see your pictures? After breakfast you mean?"
She carried the point as usual, and after breakfast it accordingly was.
As Cornelius drew back the last covering which stood between us and his picture, I felt my heart beat with expectation; as for Kate, from the moment it became visible, she was lost in wonder and admiration. The picture, though not very large, was an elaborate historical performance; it represented the death of Mary Stuart, with mourning ladies-in-waiting, knights, pages, executioner and all.
"How beautiful, how very beautiful!" exclaimed Kate with tears in her eyes; "what a subject, and how you treated it! But what a pity, what a mortal pity it was not finished in time for the academy, Cornelius!"
There was a pause, he stooped and brushed away some dust from Mary Stuart's face, but never answered. His sister resumed--
"Who is that dark-looking fellow in front?"
"The Earl of Salisbury."
"Ah! I remember, I knew he could not be good; it is in his face, I assure you. And who is that girl in the corner?"
"A looker-on."
"I knew it!" triumphantly exclaimed Miss O'Reilly, "I knew it by her unconcerned air. Cornelius, there is wonderful character in it all."
He did not reply: he was untying the strings of a large portfolio, and looking over the sketches and drawings it contained. His sister called him to her side with an air of concern. "Was he sure Mary Stuart had a velvet robe on? She hoped it was not a mistake. Critics are such harpies, you know," she added with a sigh, "they would pounce on a mistake directly."
He laid his hand on her shoulder, and, with a kind smile, looked down at her upraised face.
"Make your mind easy, Kate; Mary Stuart died in a velvet robe, which, poor thing, she kept for solemn occasions."
Miss O'Reilly's face brightened.
"Indeed I am glad to hear it; the imitation is perfect; real velvet could not have more depth and softness. How much pains you must have taken with it!"
"Yes, it gave me some trouble."
"But how sorry I am, the other pictures are sold!"
"It could not be helped! I wanted the money."
"Yes, but it has kept you in the shade all this time. What a pity Mary Stuart was not finished for this year's Academy!"
She looked at him so earnestly that he reddened.
"Cornelius," she continued rather seriously, "why was it not finished for this year's Academy?"
Jane spared him the trouble of answering, by looking in, and conveying the intimation that more luggage had come, and that there was a bill of one pound ten and elevenpence halfpenny to pay.
"I wish they may get it!" hotly said Miss O'Reilly; "it is perfectly shameful; let me manage them, Cornelius, only just come to see whether they have not changed your luggage for that of some one else. My opinion is," she added, raising her voice, "that people who charge one pound ten shillings and elevenpence halfpenny for carriage are capable of anything."
He smiled; they went out together, closed the door, and left me alone with Mary Stuart and my bitter disappointment. I could not understand it; it was strange, incredible, and yet it was so, I looked and did not admire. I could have cried with vexation to feel that this stately Mary Stuart did not touch me; that her sorrowful beauty, the grief of her weeping women, the insolent scorn of the English nobles, the impassiveness of the headsman, the commonplace pity of the lookers-on, actually left me cold and unmoved. And yet thus it was, and the longer I looked, the worse it grew; so I gave it up in despair, and turned to the portfolio.
Sketch after sketch I turned over with a pleasure that gradually grew into delight. All Italy, in her sunshine and beauty, seemed to pass before me. Here a dark-eyed girl danced the Tarantella; there swarthy boys with eager faces played at the morra; beggars held out their hand for alms with the look and mien of princes; and village women, of a beauty as calm and pure as that of the image above them, knelt and prayed before the shrine of some lowly Madonna. Nor was I less charmed by the glimpses of landscape and out-door life. I felt the warmth of that blue sky which looked as if the very heavens were opening; the sunshine on the steps of the white church dazzled me with its brightness; there were depths of coolness in the dark shade of those old trees beneath which the women sat reposing; there was life and dewy freshness in the waters of the stone fountain by which the children played. Charmed and absorbed, I never heard Cornelius enter, and knew not he was by me until he said in a careless tone behind me--
"Oh! you are looking at these odds and ends."
"I like them so much," I replied, carefully abstaining from looking towards Mary Stuart.
"Do you?"
"Indeed I do; they are beautiful, and then they remind me of our Gallery--you remember our Gallery, Cornelius?"
"Yes, I think I remember something of the kind,--you were an odd little girl, Daisy."
"I wish you would explain these sketches to me."
He sat down by me; leaned one arm on the back of my chair, and, with the hand that was free, turned over the sketches, giving a few words of brief but graphic explanation to each. He allowed me to admire them, but made no comment of his own. At length the pleasant task was ended; Cornelius rose and put away the portfolio; I was thinking with inward self- gratulation that he had forgotten all about the picture, when to my dismay he said very quietly--
"Daisy, you have not told me what you think of my Mary Stuart."
"Have I not?"
"No, indeed. Whilst Kate was here you looked at it, but never opened your lips; when I came back, I found you sitting with your back to it, intent over these sketches, mere foolish trifles, Daisy, with which I relaxed my mind from graver labours; so pray forget them, look at Mary Stuart, and give me, without flattery of course, your candid opinion."
Here was a predicament! I came out with--
"A picture of yours cannot but be good, Cornelius."
"Thank you, Daisy, but that is stating a fact, not giving me your opinion."
"I dare not give an opinion."
"Very modest; but you know whether you like a thing or not; _ergo_, do you or do you not like Mary Stuart?"