"Papa was ten years older than Mamma," I persisted: "was she a mere baby to him?" "My dear, she was grown up." "Well then, when I am grown up I shall not be a mere baby to you!" I replied triumphantly. "You obstinate little thing!" observed Kate, who had listened with evident impatience; "don't you see this is a very different matter? you are as good as the adopted child of Cornelius." "Precisely," he hastened to observe, "and as I mean to be very paternal, I expressly desire you to be very filial." "You want to make quite a little girl of me!" I said ruefully. "Did your father do so?" "Well, but he was my real father, and you are not, and could not be." Kate declared there never had been such an obstinate child in all Ireland. Cornelius looked very grave, and said, as I did not value the privilege of being his adopted daughter, he should not press the point. I protested so warmly against this reproach, that he at length looked convinced, said it was all right, and again bade me good-night. I demurred, he insisted. "Ah!" I said reproachfully, "you are not as fond of me as Papa was?" "Why so, child?" "If I had asked him to stay up awhile, he would not have said 'No:' he would have said, 'Yes, Margaret, my dear, it is only ten; you may stay up another quarter of an hour.'" "Well then, stay," replied Cornelius, unable to repress a smile, "but you will make a nice exacting daughter." "A spoiled one," said Kate. "Let her," he replied; then laying his hand on my head, he kindly added, "Kate, this child is the only boast and good deed of my life. She makes me feel venerable and paternal, and, like a good Papa, I'll work hard to give her a marriage portion some day." "I don't want to marry," I observed pettishly; "I don't want to leave you, Cornelius." "Nonsense!" drily said Kate, "you'd do like your Mamma, run away, if one attempted to keep you." I denied it indignantly; she insisted. I was beginning to utter a most vehement protest against the mere idea of ever forsaking Cornelius, when he interfered, and informed me that his paternal pride and feelings would be wounded to the quick at the idea of my remaining an old maid. He appealed to my sense of filial duty; I generously sacrificed myself, but not without making some preliminary conditions. "He must be an Irishman," I said. "Ah!" observed Cornelius, stroking his chin, "he must be an Irishman!" "Yes, and an artist." Cornelius looked uncomfortable, but he merely echoed-- "An artist!" "Yes, and his name must be Cornelius." Cornelius looked disconcerted. "Nonsense!" sharply said Kate, "what are you talking of? an Irishman--an artist--name Cornelius? nonsense!" "Then I won't have him at all," I replied, rather provoked: "I did not want him, Kate, and you know it too. I want to stay with Cornelius." "Mrs. O'Reilly may have a word or two to say to that," very quietly observed Kate.