Rosy scarcely seemed to care to play with her at all. Her
whole time, when not at her lessons, was spent in her aunt's room,
generally with Nelson, who was never tired of amusing her and giving
in to all her fancies. Bee grew silent and shy. She was losing her
bright happy manner, and looked as if she no longer felt sure that she
was a welcome little guest. Mrs. Vincent saw the change in her, but
did not quite understand it, and felt almost inclined to be vexed with
her.
"She knows it is only for a short time that Rosy's aunt is here. She
might make the best of it," thought Mrs. Vincent. For she did not know
fully how lonely Bee's life now was, and how many cold or unkind words
she had to bear from Rosy, not to speak of Nelson's sharp and almost
rude manner; for, though Rosy was not cunning, Nelson was so, and she
managed to make it seem always as if Bee, and not Rosy, was in fault.
"Where is Bee?" said Mrs. Vincent one afternoon when she went into the
nursery, where, at this time of day, Nelson was now generally to be
found.
"I don't know, mamma," said Rosy. Then, without saying any more about
Bee, she went on eagerly, "Do look, mamma, at the lovely opera-cloak
Nelson has made for my doll? It isn't _quite_ ready--there's a
little white fluff----"
"Swansdown, Miss Rosy, darling," said Nelson.
"Well, swansdown then--it doesn't matter--mamma knows," said Rosy
sharply, "there's white stuff to go round the neck.
Pages:
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130