It was quite enough to put her out again.
"I might just as well have been left upstairs in my own room," she
said to herself. "Nobody notices me--nobody cares whether I am here or
not. _I_ won't go to stay with that ugly old man and his stupid
daughter, just to be always put behind Bee."
And when Beata, with a slight feeling that Rosy might be feeling
herself neglected, and full of pleasure, too, at Mrs. Vincent's having
forgiven her, slipped behind the others and took Rosy's hand in hers,
saying brightly, "_Won't_ it be nice to go and stay with them,
Rosy?" Rosy pulled away her hand roughly, and, looking very cross,
went back to her old cry.
"I wish you'd leave me alone, Bee. I hate that sort of pretending. You
know quite well nobody would care whether _I_ went or not."
And poor Bee drew back quite distressed, and puzzled again by Rosy's
changeableness.
CHAPTER VII.
MR. FURNITURE'S PRESENT.
"And show me any courtly gem more beautiful than these."
--SONG OF THE STRAWBERRY GIRL.
"Your little girl is very pretty, unusually pretty," Mr. Furnivale was
saying to Rosy's mother, as he sat beside her on the sofa during the
few minutes they were waiting for luncheon, "and she looks so strong
and well."
"Yes," said Mrs. Vincent, "she is very strong. I am glad you think her
pretty," she went on. "It is always difficult to judge of one's own
children, I think, or indeed of any face you see constantly.
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