Daisy Burns Volume II Part 17

"Indeed," I thought, "he may fidget. I am not going to make him lose all his time."

Instead, therefore, of joining him, when my task was done, I quietly slipped down to the garden; but I had scarcely sat down on the bench beneath the pine trees, when Cornelius came, and settled himself by me. I seemed intent on my crochet; but, as this produced no effect, I rose, and composedly observed the sun was very hot.

"Burning!" replied Cornelius, rising too.

We went in. The front parlour faced the east, and was as warm as the garden; the back parlour, on the contrary, looked cool and shady.

Cornelius quietly brought in my work-basket and work-box, placed a chair for me by the open window, another chair for himself, near mine, then closed the door, and smiled at me.

"Yes," I thought, as I sat down, "I am caught; but, since you have such a relish for my company, you shall even hear a bit of my mind."

I sat darning my stockings, and meditating how to bring this about, when Cornelius observed, with a touch of impatience:

"Am I to see only your side face to-day?"

"Do you object to my side face?" I gravely asked.

"Oh, no!" he hastily replied. "It is a very charming profile; and I was thinking, just now, how well it would look on a medal or ancient coin."

"And why not on a modern coin, as well as on an ancient one?"

"With the legend, Daisy Regina, &c," he answered, smiling.

"Do you mean to imply I could not grace a throne, and bear a sceptre?"

"Heaven forbid; but I wonder what History would say of Queen Daisy!"

I looked up to answer calmly:

"History would despatch her with a few more &cs., Cornelius; such as: 'The most obscure of our long line of sovereigns, &c. Instead of emulating the Elizabeths and the Catherines, &c. Although with the intellectual mediocrity of her s.e.x, &c. Her reign was nevertheless ill.u.s.trated by a certain Irish artist, &c, &c.'"

"The Irish artist respectfully kisses her Majesty's hand," said Cornelius, raising my hand to his lips with mock homage; "he ventures to hope that, spite of the distance of rank, something like friends.h.i.+p existed between him and Queen Daisy."

He still held my hand in his; encouraged by the friendly kindness of the clasp, I replied:

"So much friends.h.i.+p that, on one propitious occasion, Queen Daisy ventured to remind her friend that time was pa.s.sing fast, and his fame yet to win."

Cornelius dropped my hand, and asked, gravely:

"Does History say how this advice was received?"

"History is silent," I replied, with a beating heart. "How do you think it ended, Cornelius?"

"I think," he replied, smiling as our looks met, "that most artists would have civilly requested her Majesty to mind the affairs of the State.

Painters are a touchy race, better accustomed to royal favour than to royal advice. The brush of t.i.tian was picked up by Charles V.; Holbein found the English Bluebeard gentle; Leonardo da Vinci died in the arms of Francis I.; and, I suppose the artist we now allude to must have been spoiled by favours still more high, for I have heard that on this occasion he had the presumption to request of her Majesty--"

"To mind the affairs of the State," I interrupted, again taking up my stocking.

"Nay," he replied, gently taking it from me, "to leave by those important cares, and idle away a day with him, was the request, says History."

"Oh!" I exclaimed, with a sigh of relief, "I am so glad you are not offended, Cornelius!"

"Then you thought I was; and that explains why you looked at me with a sorrowful audacity that seemed to say: 'Be angry if you like. I have said the truth, nothing but the truth, and by that I stand fast.'"

"Yes, Cornelius, that is just what I felt; but I am very glad that you are not offended for all that."

"Then if you are so glad," he answered smiling, "how did you come to risk it?"

"Because I am not quite a child now," I replied earnestly. "Oh!

Cornelius, do you not understand that I can love you better than your good pleasure, and your honour better than you?"

"And do you not understand," he answered, bending over me a warm and animated face, "that I cannot be offended to see the child's blind affection make room for the heart, mind and feelings of the woman; and call that look in the eyes, and that flush on the cheek?"

"I meant to be very quiet," I replied, deprecatingly; "and if I reddened as I spoke, it was because my heart was in it, Cornelius, as it is in everything that concerns you; and I could not help it."

"Who wants you to help it?" he asked with mingled tenderness and impatience in his accent, "or to be quiet either. Quiet affection is nonsense: there is but one way of loving or of doing anything, and that is, as much as one can, Daisy."

He uttered not a word to which something within me did not echo and reply. To this day, I do not understand placid affection, even though it should take the calmest name. Like him I hold that there is but one true way of loving any one, or anything, with one's whole heart.

"As much as one can," I echoed, pa.s.sing my arm within his; "that's how you are going to set at painting, is it not?"

My upraised face looked into his; he did not reply.

"You know," I continued, "you said you could paint over again Count Morsikoff's pictures."

"And so I will, but not just yet."

"Cornelius, do you no longer like painting?"

"No longer like it! I like it but too well; and as I know its power over me, I delay placing myself under a spell, even you, Daisy, might not be able to break."

"As if I should wish to break it! When do you begin, Cornelius?"

"What a hurry you are in!"

"I am in a hurry to see you famous."

He smoothed my hair with a flattered smile.

"Will you begin to-morrow?" I persisted.

"No."

"After to-morrow?"

"No."

"Next week?"