"'Aunt Harriet,' I said, 'do you think I shall ever be as beautiful as
Mrs. Moss?'

"'I'm ashamed of you,' said Aunt Harriet.

"I climbed no more into the treacherous arm-chair. I eschewed the
mirror. I left Mr. Joseph in peace upon the wall. I took no further
trouble about the future prospects of my nose. But night and day I
thought of Mrs. Moss. I found the old cushion, and sat by it, gazing
at the faded tints of the rosebuds, till I imagined the stiff brocade
in all its beauty and freshness. I took a vigorous drawing fit; but it
was only to fill my little book with innumerable sketches of Mrs.
Moss. My uncle lent me his paint-box, as he was wont; and if the fancy
portraits that I made were not satisfactory even to myself, they
failed in spite of cheeks blushing with vermilion, in spite of eyes as
large and brilliant as lamp-black could make them, and in spite of the
most accurately curved noses that my pencil could produce. The amount
of gamboge and Prussian blue that I wasted in vain efforts to produce
a satisfactory pea-green, leaves me at this day an astonished admirer
of my uncle's patience. At this time I wished to walk along no other
road than that which led to my dear manor, where the iron gates were
being painted, the garden made tidy, and the shutters opened; but,
above all, the chief object of my desires was to accompany my
grandmother and aunt in their first visit to Mrs. Moss.

"Once I petitioned Aunt Harriet on this subject. Her answer was--

"'My dear, there would be nothing to amuse you; Mrs. Moss is an old
woman.'