"Now I beautiful," said the child, looking at herself. "Is not Miranda pretty now, mamma?"
"Yes, my love, beautiful as an angel: come and kiss me, my darling."
The child, climbing up the load of cushions, laid her sweet little face close to her mother's and kissed her.
"Is not she a beauty and a love?" said the injudicious mother to the Colonel, clasping the little creature to her bosom, with an air more theatrical than tender. He whispered something, in return to which she replied with affected indignation, "Oh, you flattering wretch, that she is, and a thousand times handsomer; but she will never know what[B] her mother was, for before she is old enough to distinguish, I shall either be dead or hideous, and then she will hate me." She heaved a deep sigh, and looked distressed at the idea, which the child perceiving, fondly twined her little arms round her mother's neck, and answered:—
"No, dear mamma, Miranda always love you, you so beautiful."
"See," said the old lady, "the effect of your lessons; you teach her to love nothing but beauty, and if you were to lose your good looks, she would of course cease to care any thing about you."
"Yes, that is exactly what I dread."
"Then why do you not endeavour to prevent it, by giving her more reasonable notions? If she is led to suppose beauty and fine dress the only claims to affection, if she is never taught that virtue and an affectionate heart can alone ensure unfading esteem, she will grow up a mere frivolous automaton, and probably throw herself away on the first coxcomb with a handsome face and red coat she meets with."
The Colonel coloured, laughed, and bowed.
"Nay," said the old lady, "if you choose to apply the character to yourself, with all my heart, settle it as you please; but, I suppose, all red coats are not mere coxcombs."