She--Beata--was the child of friends of Rosy's parents. They had been
much together in India, and had returned to England at the same time.
So Beata was already well known to Rosy's mother, and Fixie, too, had
learnt to look upon her almost as a sister. Beata's father and mother
were obliged to go back to India, and it had been settled that their
little girl was to be left at home with her grandmother. But just a
short time before they were to leave, her grandmother had a bad
illness, and it was found she would not be well enough to take charge
of the child. And in the puzzle about what they should do with her, it
had struck her father and mother that perhaps their friends, Rosy's
parents, might be able to help them, and they had written to ask them;
and so it had come about that little Beata was to come to live with
them. It had all seemed so natural and nice. Rosy's mother was so
pleased about it, for she thought it would be just what Rosy needed to
make her a pleasanter and more reasonable little girl.
"Beata is such a nice child," she said to Rosy's father when they were
talking about it, "and not one bit spoilt. I think it is _sure_
to do Rosy good," and, full of pleasure in the idea, she told Rosy
about it.
But--one man may bring a horse to the water, but twenty can't make him
drink, says the old proverb--Rosy made up her mind on the spot, at the
very first instant, that she wouldn't like Beata, and that her coming
was on purpose to vex _her_, Rosy, as it seemed to her that most
things which she had to do with in the world were.
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