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

committee 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 come near it: and have you learnt

French?"

"Yes, Bessie, I can both read it and speak it."

"And you can work on muslin and canvas?"

"I can."

"Oh, you are quite a lady, Miss Jane! I knew you would be: you

will get on whether your relations notice you or not. There was

something I wanted to ask you. Have you ever heard anything from

your father's kinsfolk, the Eyres?"

"Never in my life."

"Well, you know Missis always said they were poor and quite

despicable: and they may be poor; but I believe they are as much

gentry as the Reeds are; for one day, nearly seven years ago, a Mr.

Eyre came to Gateshead and wanted to see you; Missis said you were

it school fifty miles off; he seemed so much disappointed, for he

could not stay: he was going on a voyage to a foreign country, and

the ship was to sail from London in a day or two. He looked quite a

gentleman, and I believe he was your father's brother."

"What foreign country was he going to, Bessie?"

"An island thousands of miles off, where they make wine--the butler

did tell me--"

"Madeira?" I suggested.

"Yes, that is it--that is the very word."




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