Charl. Have you, indeed? La, that is wonderful! But don't you very often write long letters to the friends you love most?
Mrs. B. Indeed I don't write very often, nor very long letters to any body; and yet I have some friends whom I very dearly love.
Charl. (taking Mrs. B's. hand and skipping about her.) O! I am so glad to hear that! I thought all dear friends wrote to one another every day, and that every body knew what to say but myself.—When I am with Mama, I think it will be so difficult to become amiable and accomplished, as I ought to be, that I am quite discouraged; but when I am with you, it appears so pleasant and so easy, that I am put quite into good spirits again.—But, no, no! I do every thing so clumsily! and you do every thing so well!
Mrs. B. Don't be so diffident of yourself, Charlotte: remember you are but fifteen, and I am four-and-twenty.
Charl. I wonder how I shall look when I am four-and-twenty. I'm sure, notwithstanding all the pains both Mama and my Governess take with me, I don't think I look very well at present.
Mrs. B. Nay, my good Charlotte, you look very well always, when you don't attempt to look too well. I hope to see you turn out a very agreeable woman.
Charl. Do you think so? I am to go to public places with Mama next winter; and I have overheard her and my Governess whispering together
