“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