In that opinion and decision Miriam fully concurred. Every day she came up to the studio for awhile, and she never left without having admired the Stolen Child, and, though very gently, depreciated Medora. One day in the week that followed her return, as she stood behind Cornelius looking at him painting, she was more than usually eloquent. "There is so much thought, sadness, and poetry about that figure," she said,--"it expresses so well civilized intelligence captive amongst those half-savage Gipsies, that I never look at it without a new feeling of admiration." I detected the ill-repressed smile of proud pleasure which lit up the whole countenance of Cornelius, but he carelessly replied-- "I am glad you think so." Miriam continued. "The difference between this and Medora is even to me quite astonishing." Cornelius reddened; she resumed-- "One is as earnest as the other is indifferent." "Indifferent!" he interrupted; "well, you know I do not think so highly of Medora as of this; yet Kate, who is no partial judge, confesses that there is earnestness in the look and attitude of the figure." "Yes, but rather cold, that is to say, calm," quietly replied Miriam; "do you not yourself think so?" He said, "Yes," and smiled a somewhat forced abstracted smile, continued his work for some time without speaking, then suddenly leaving it by, he went and fetched Medora. "Come, where is that great difference?" he asked resolutely. "I feel it," was her quiet answer. He looked at her, and, without insisting, put away the painting. The matter seemed dismissed from his mind, but the next morning, when I went up to the studio a little after breakfast, I found Medora on the easel and Cornelius looking at it intently. Without turning to me, he called me to his side. "Now Daisy," he said, laying his hand on my shoulder, "tell me frankly, candidly, if you think Medora so very inferior to the other one." "No, indeed, Cornelius," I replied eagerly. "She is always abusing it." he continued in an annoyed tone; "yesterday evening in the garden she hoped I would not think of finishing and exhibiting it." "What a shame!" I exclaimed indignantly. "No, my dear; Miriam does well to give me her candid opinion; I hope it is what you will always do." "But, Cornelius," I ventured to object, "do you think Miss Russell knows much about painting?" "To tell you the truth," confidently answered Cornelius, "I do not think she does. She has natural taste, but no experience. Now you," he added, turning to me with a smile, "you, my pet, though such a child, know of painting about ten times as much as she does, and, although it would not do to say so to her, I could trust to your opinion ten times sooner than to hers." I was foolish enough to be pleased with this. "I hope," continued Cornelius, "to be able to improve her taste; in the meanwhile, I think, like you, Daisy, that Medora is almost equal to the Stolen Child."