throw yourself down on the
grass, and either tell me a pretty story, or recite some nice verses for
me, or be otherwise amusing and agreeable.'

'Shall I do what will best please myself? If so, it will be to lie here and
look at you.'

'Be it so,' said she, with a sigh. 'I have always thought, in looking
at them, how saints are bored by being worshipped--it adds fearfully to
martyrdom, but happily I am used to it. "Oh, the vanity of that girl!" Yes,
sir, say it out: tell her frankly that if she has no friend to caution her
against this besetting wile, that you will be that friend. Tell her
that whatever she has of attraction is spoiled and marred by this
self-consciousness, and that just as you are a rebel without knowing it, so
should she be charming and never suspect it. Is not that coming nicely,'
said she, pointing to the drawing; 'see how that tender light is carried
down from those grey walls to the banks beneath, and dies away in that
little pool, where the faintest breath of air is rustling. Don't look at
me, sir, look at my drawing.'

'True, there is no tender light there,' muttered he, gazing at her eyes,
where the enormous size of the pupils had given a character of steadfast
brilliancy, quite independent of shape, or size, or colour.

'You know very little about it,' said she saucily; then, bending over the
drawing, she said, 'That middle distance wants a bit of colour: you shall
aid me here.'

'How am I to aid you?' asked he, in sheer simplicity.

'I mean that you should be that bit of colour. There, take my scarlet
cloak, and perch yourself yonder on that low rock. A few minutes will do.
Was there ever immortality so cheaply purchased! Your biographer shall tell
that you were the figure in that famous sketch--what will be called in the
cant of art, one of Nina Kostalergi's earliest and happiest efforts. There,
now, dear Mr. Donogan, do as you are bid.'

'Do you know the Greek ballad, where a youth remembers that the word "dear"
has been coupled with his name--a passing courtesy, if even so much, but
enough to light up a whole chamber in his heart?'

'I know nothing of Greek ballads. How does it go?'

'It is a simple melody, in a low key.' And he sang, in a deep but tremulous
voice, to a very plaintive air--

'I took her hand within my own,
I drew her gently nearer,
And whispered almost on her cheek,
"Oh, would that I were dearer."
Dearer! No, that's not my prayer:
A stranger