"She is beautiful," he said in a low tone, "though I say it that should not, and though I know you will never grant me that she is." She smiled a little ironically as he turned round to her. "I will grant you anything," she replied; "Medora is not my portrait, but an ideal woman for whom you have borrowed my form and face." "What will not an artist attempt to idealize?" asked Cornelius with a touch of embarrassment. "Oh!" she observed very sweetly, "I do not mean to imply it was not required. Only if this were a portrait, I should object to having Daisy's eyes and brow given to me." Cornelius became crimson, and felt that the artist had made the lover commit a blunder. He tried to pass it off carelessly. "Ah!" he said, "you think that because I gave too dark a tint to the eyebrows, and in attempting to make the eyes look deep, rendered them rather grey--" She smiled and rose. "You are not going?" he asked with surprise. "Why not, since you do not want me." "No, do not; pray do not!" he entreated; he looked quite uneasy, and in his earnestness took both her hands in his. She withdrew them with an astonished and displeased air, and a look that fell on me. "Daisy," impatiently said Cornelius, "have you nothing to do below? no lessons to learn?" He could not have said "You are in the way" more plainly; I did not answer, but rose and left them. "What brings you down here?" asked Kate, as I entered the parlour, where she sat alone sewing. "Cornelius said I was to learn my lessons." "Then take your books upstairs." I objected to this; but Miss O'Reilly was peremptory. "I am sure Cornelius wanted to get me out of the way," I said at length, to explain a refusal that naturally surprised her. "Oh, he did!" indignantly exclaimed Kate. "Indeed he did, Kate." "I don't care a pin about that," was her decisive rejoinder, "but I am determined that he shall not lose his days as he loses his evenings: go up directly." I obeyed with deep reluctance; even when I reached the door of the studio, I paused ere I opened it, then stood still and looked. They had not heard me; how could they? Miriam, no longer intent on going, had resumed her place; Cornelius sat at her feet, one elbow resting on the edge of the couch, his eyes intently fixed on her face. She bent over him; her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly parted; one of her hands was buried in her own fair hair which fell loosened on her neck, the other slowly unravelled the dark locks of Cornelius. "It is not at me, but at Medora, you are looking," she said impatiently. "Are you jealous of her?" "Jealous! when I begin it shall be with Daisy." "Jealous of Daisy! as if you could be!"