"No, Rosy. There is not one for Bee. Mr. Furnivale brought it for you
only."
Then Rosy's face was a curious study. There was a sort of pleasure in
it--and this, I must truly say, was not pleasure that Bee had
_not_ a present also, for Rosy was not greedy or even selfish in
the common way, but it was pleasure at being put first, and joined to
this pleasure was a nice honest sorrow that Bee was left out. Now that
Rosy was satisfied that she herself was properly treated she found
time to think of Bee. And though the necklace had been six times as
pretty, though it had been all pearls or diamonds, it would not have
given Mrs. Vincent half the pleasure that this look of real unselfish
sorrow in Rosy's face sent through her heart. More still, when the
little girl, bending to her mother, whispered softly,
"Mamma, would it be right of me to give it to Bee? I wouldn't mind
very much."
"No, darling, no; but I am _very_ glad you thought of it. We will
do something to make up for it to Bee." And she added aloud,
"Mr. Furnivale may _perhaps_ be able to get one something like it
for Bee, when he goes back to Italy."
"Then I may show it to her. It won't be unkind to show it her?" asked
Rosy. And when her mother said "No, it would not be unkind," feeling
sure, with her faith in Bee's goodness that Rosy's pleasure would be
met with the heartiest sympathy--for "sympathy," dears, can be shown
to those about us in their joys as well as in their sorrows--Rosy ran
off in the highest spirits.
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