"Beulah, will you come on Saturday morning and spend an hour or so
with me?"
"No; I have a music lesson to give; but if you will be at home in
the afternoon, I will come with pleasure."
"I shall expect you, then. You were drawing when I came in; are you
fond of it?" As she spoke she took up a piece which was nearly
completed.
"Yes; but you will find my sketches very crude."
"Who taught you to draw?"
"I have had several teachers. All rather indifferent, however."
"Where did you see a St. Cecilia? There is too much breadth of brow
here," continued Cornelia, with a curious glance at the young
teacher.
"Yes; I deviated from the original intentionally. I copied it from a
collection of heads which Georgia Asbury brought from the North."
"I have a number of choice paintings, which I selected in Europe.
Any that you may fancy are at your service for models."
"Thank you. I shall be glad to avail myself of the privilege."
"Good-by. You will come Saturday?"
"Yes; if nothing occurs to prevent, I will come in the afternoon."
Beulah pressed her offered hand, and saw her descend the steps with
a feeling of pity which she could not exactly analyze. Passing by
the window, she glanced down, and paused to look upon an elegant
carriage standing before the door. The day was cold, but the top was
thrown back, and on one of the cushions sat, or, rather, reclined, a
richly dressed and very beautiful girl. As Beulah leaned out to
examine the lovely stranger more closely Cornelia appeared. The
driver opened the low door, and, as Cornelia stepped in, the young
lady, who was Miss Dupres, of course, ejaculated rather peevishly: "You stayed an age!"
"Drive down the Bay Road, Wilson," was Cornelia's reply, and, as she
folded her rich cloak about her, the carriage was whirled away.
Beulah went back to the fire, warmed her fingers, and resumed her
drawing, thinking that she would not willingly change places with
the petted child of wealth and luxury.