If she were slumbering, she had fallen asleep with bright images in her memory.

I even fancied again and again that her lips moved her exquisitely chiseled mouth, and that a faint breath played with her abundant, waving, shining brown hair, as it does with yours.
"The Muse sped my hand and the portrait--Bion and the rest will praise it, I think, though it is no more like the unapproachable original than that lamp is like the evening star yonder." "And shall we be allowed to see it ?" asked Melissa, who had been listening breathlessly to her brother's narrative.
The words seemed to have snatched the artist from a dream.

He had to pause and consider where he was and to whom he was speaking.

He hastily pushed the curling hair off his damp brow, and said: "I do not understand.

What is it you ask ?" "I only asked whether we should be allowed to see the portrait," she answered timidly.