XXXIII.
A LETTER FROM CHARLIE.
Bert had plenty of capacity. She could get her lessons in an incredibly short time when there was any inducement. At other times she would sit for two or three hours with the book before her, but with her attention straying to other things, and, as a natural consequence, would know no more at the end of that time than at the beginning. Fortunately Mrs. Codman had the gift of patience, and though she was gentle, was, at the same time, firm.
Of one thing Bert became convinced,—that study was not so terrible as she had imagined. At the end of three months she had made so great an improvement, that her father was equally surprised and delighted, and was disposed to do full justice to Mrs. Codman's merits as a governess. "Who knows but you will become quite a learned lady in time, Bert?" he said, playfully.
"No doubt of it, papa," replied Bert. "By the time I am eighteen, I expect to wear green glasses and write books."
"That will, indeed, be a miraculous transformation. And what is to become of Topsy, then?"
"Oh, she'll be an old cat then, and won't feel any more like racing round than I do. She'll just curl up in a chair beside me, and I will use her fur to wipe my pens on. She is just the right color for that, you know."
"Quite a sensible plan. I confess. Indeed, it will be well for you to have something of that kind to be employed about, as you will probably have no beaux."
"No beaux, papa? And why am I to have no beaux, I should like to know?"
"Because it takes two to make a bargain."
"Well, perhaps I sha'n't," replied Bert, tossing her head. "Perhaps you don't know that I have picked out my future husband."