But a week had already passed since that letter was sent. It was
growing time to begin to think about another. And no "somehow" had
come to put things right again. Bee sat at the schoolroom window one
day after Miss Pink had left, looking out on to the garden, where the
borders were bright with the early summer flowers, and everything
seemed sunny and happy.
"I wish I was happy too," thought Bee. And she gently stroked
Manchon's soft coat, and wondered why the birds outside and the cat
inside seemed to have all they wanted, when a little girl like her
felt so sad and lonely. Manchon had grown fond of Bee. She was gentle
and quiet, and that was what he liked, for he was no longer so young
as he had been. And Rosy's pullings and pushings, when she was not in
a good humour and fancied he was in her way, tried his nerves very
much.
"Manchon," said Bee softly, "you look very wise. Why can't you tell me
where Rosy's necklace is?"
Manchon blinked his eyes and purred. But, alas, that was all he could
do.
Just then the door opened and Rosy came in. She was dressed for going
out. She had her best hat and dress on, and she looked very well
pleased with herself.
"I'm going out a drive with auntie," she said. "And mamma says you're
to be ready to go a walk with her in half an hour."
She was leaving the room, when a sudden feeling made Bee call her
back.
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