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“I am afraid you are disappointed in me； Bessie。” I said this laughing： I perceived that Bessie’s glance； though it expressed regard； did in no shape denote admiration。
“No； Miss Jane； not exactly： you are genteel enough； you look like a lady； and it is as much as ever I expected of you： you were no beauty as a child。”
I smiled at Bessie’s frank answer： I felt that it was correct； but I confess I was not quite indifferent to its import： at eighteen most people wish to please； and the conviction that they have not an exterior likely to second that desire brings anything but gratification。
“I dare say you are clever； though；” continued Bessie； by way of solace。 “What can you do？ Can you play on the piano？”
“A little。”
There was one in the room； Bessie went and opened it； and then asked me to sit down and give her a tune： I played a waltz or two； and she was charmed。
“The Miss Reeds could not play as well！” said she exultingly。 “I always said you would surpass them in learning： and can you draw？”
“That is one of my paintings over the chimney…piece。” It was a landscape in water colours； of which I had made a present to the superintendent； in acknowledgment of her obliging mediation with the mittee on my behalf； and which she had framed and glazed。
“Well； that is beautiful； Miss Jane！ It is as fine a picture as any Miss Reed’s drawing…master could paint； let alone the young ladies themselves； who could not e near it： and
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