Then a gray-haired gentleman, whom Rosy,
peeping through a side window, did not waste her attention on--"He is
quite old," she said to herself--got out, and lifted down a much
smaller person--smaller than Rosy herself, and a good deal smaller
than the Beata of Rosy's fancies. The little person sprang forward,
and was going to kiss Rosy's mother, when she caught sight of the tiny
white face beside her.
"O Fixie, dear little Fixie!" she said, stooping to hug him, and then
she lifted her own face for Fixie's mother to kiss. At once, almost
before shaking hands with the gentleman, Rosy's mother looked round
for her, and Rosy had to come forward.
"Beata, dear, this is my Rosy," she said; and something in the tone of
the "my" touched Rosy. It seemed to say, "I will put no one before
you, my own little girl--no stranger, however sweet--and you will, on
your side, try to please me, will you not?" So Rosy's face, though
grave, had a nice look the first time Beata saw it, and the first
words she said as they kissed each other were, "O Rosy, how pretty you
are! I shall love you very much."
CHAPTER III.
TEARS.
"'Twere most ungrateful."--V. S. LAKDOH.
Beata was not pretty. That was the first thing Rosy decided about her.
She was small, and rather brown and thin. She had dark hair, certainly
like Lady Albertine's in colour, but instead of splendid curls it was
cut quite short--as short almost as Colin's--and her eyes were neither
very large nor very blue.
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