Mrs. Blandish. Oh! you dear, giddy, absent creature, what could you be thinking of?
Miss Als. Absent indeed. Chignon, give me the fauteuil; [Throws herself into it.] Young woman, where were you educated?
Miss Alton. Chiefly, madam, with my parents.
Miss Als. But finished, I take it for granted, at a country boarding school; for we have, young ladies, you know Blandish, boarded and educated, upon blue boards, in gold letters, in every village; with a strolling player for a dancing master, and a deserter from Dunkirk, to teach the French grammar.
Mrs. Blandish. How that genius of yours does paint! nothing escapes you—I dare say you have anticipated this young lady's story.
Miss Alton. It is very true, madam, my life can afford nothing to interest the curiosity of you two ladies; it has been too insignificant to merit your concern, and attended with no circumstances to excite your pleasantry.
Miss Als. [Yawning.] I hope, child, it will be attended with such for the future as will add to your own—I cannot bear a mope about me.—I am told you have a talent for music—can you touch that harp—It stands here as a piece of furniture, but I have a notion it is kept in tune, by the man who comes to wind up my clocks.
Miss Alton. Madam, I dare not disobey you. But I have been used to perform before a most partial audience; I am afraid strangers will think my talent too humble to be worthy attention.
SONG.
For tenderness framed in life's earliest day,