Rembrandt Painting

Rembrandt Painting
Mary Cassatt painting
Jack Vettriano Painting
The Singing Butler
mingled sense of curiosity and envy, that grew as I lingered.
`Con-trary!' said a voice as sweet as a silver bell--`That for the third time, you dunce! I'm not going to tell you again. Recollect, or I'll pull your hair!'
`Contrary, then,' answered another, in deep but softened tones. `And now, kiss me, for minding so well.'
`No, read it over first correctly, without a single mistake.'
The male speaker began to read: he was a young man, respectably dressed and seated at a table, having a book before him. His handsome features glowed with pleasure, and his eyes kept impatiently wandering from the page to a small white hand over his shoulder, which recalled him by a smart slap on the cheek, whenever its owner detected such signs of inattention. Its owner stood behind; her light, shining ringlets blending,
oil paintings at intervals, with his brown locks, as she bent to superintend his studies; and her face--it was lucky he could not see her face, or he would never have been so steady. I could: and I bit my lip in spite, at having thrown away the chance I might have had of doing something besides staring at its smiling beauty.