England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Guardian and ward -- Fiction; Orphans -- Fiction
I had never said anything of the kind, but Cornelius was evidently
convinced I had, and I knew not how to set him right.
"Yes," he resumed, looking at the picture, "it improves as you look at
it. That little bit of rock-work in the foreground is not amiss, is it,
Daisy?"
"It is just like the rocks at Leigh," I replied.
"Is it though?" exclaimed Cornelius, chucking my chin, a sign of great
pleasure, "I am glad of it; not that I care about the rocks, not a pin;
but it is always satisfactory to know that one is true to nature, even in
minor points. And so there were some like them at Leigh! Well, no matter;
I gave of course my chief attention to the figure, and that I think is
pretty well."
He looked me in the face with the simplicity of a child; listened to my
enthusiastic praise with evident gratification, and, with great
_na?vet?_, confessed "that was just his own opinion." We were interrupted
by the unexpected entrance of Miriam, who came earlier than usual.
"There!" triumphantly exclaimed Cornelius, "the case is decided against
you; I have appealed to Daisy, and like me she does not see so very great
a difference between Medora and the Stolen Child."
"Does she not?" carelessly replied Miriam, as she sat down without
looking at the picture.
"I see what it is," he said in a piqued tone, "you think I have not done
you justice."
"Nothing of the kind," she answered smiling.
"Ah! if I did not fear to injure your health," reproachfully continued
Cornelius, "I would soon show you that Medora could be made not quite
unworthy of Miriam."
"But really," she replied in her indolent way, "I only said it was a
little calm."
"Cold, Miriam. Ah! if you would only give me as a sitting the hour you
spend here daily, how soon I could improve that cold Medora."
She flatly refused; she could not think of letting him lay by his Stolen
Child, that promised so well for so inferior a production as Medora. It
was only after half an hours hard begging and praying, that Cornelius at
length obtained her consent. He set to work that very instant,--she sat
not one hour, but two; I looked on with the vague presentiment that
Cornelius and I were very simple.
Of course, though not at once, the Stolen Child was again laid aside for
Medora. Cornelius said it made no difference, since he could finish the
two pictures with ease for the ensuing year's Exhibition. Kate made no
comment, but quietly asked if the smell of the paint had ceased to affect
Miss Russell.
"Oh dear, yes, quite," replied her brother with great candour.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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