"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.
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"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?"
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