They were nice gray eyes, that could look
sad, but generally looked merry, and about the rest of her face there
was nothing very particular.
Rosy looked at her for a moment or two, and she looked at Rosy. Then
at last Rosy said,
"Will you come into the drawing-room?" for she saw that her mother and
Beata's uncle were already on their way there.
"Thank you," said Beata, and then they quietly followed the big
people. Rosy's father was not at home, but he would be back soon, her
mother was telling the gray-haired gentleman, and then she went on to
ask him how "they" had got off, if it had been comfortably, and so on.
"Oh yes," he replied, "it was all quite right. Poor Maud!--"
"That's my mamma," said Beata in a low voice, and Rosy, turning
towards her, saw that her eyes were full of tears.
"What a queer little girl she is!" thought Rosy, but she did not say
so.
"--Poor Maud," continued the gentleman. "It is a great comfort to her
to leave the child in such good hands."
"I hope she will be happy," said Rosy's mother. "I will do my best to
make her so."
"I am very sure of that," said Beata's uncle. "It is a great
disappointment to her grandmother not to have her with her. She is a
dear child. Last week at the parting she behaved like a brick."
Both little girls heard this, and Beata suddenly began speaking rather
fast, and Rosy saw that her cheeks had got very red.
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