And--and--I hope Bee will enjoy the f?te."
But that was all she could manage. She hurried over the last words;
then, bursting into tears, she rushed out of the room.
"Poor darling!" said Aunt Edith. "Lillias, are you sure we can do
nothing? Couldn't one of her white dresses be done up somehow?"
"No," said Mrs. Vincent. "It would only draw attention to her if she
was to go dressed differently from the others, and I should not wish
that. Besides--oh no--it is much better not."
She had hardly said the words when she felt something gently pulling
her, and, looking down, there was Bee beside her, trying to whisper
something.
"Auntie," she said, "would you, oh! _would_ you let Rosy go
instead of me, wearing my dress? It would fit her almost as well as
her own. And, do you know, I _wouldn't_ care to go alone. It
wouldn't be _any_ happiness to me, and it would be such happiness
to know that Rosy could go. And I'm afraid I've got a little cold or
something, for I've still got a headache, and I'm not sure that it
will be better by Wednesday."
She looked up entreatingly in Mrs. Vincent's face, and then Rosy's
mother noticed how pale and ill she seemed.
"My dear little Bee," she said, "you must try to be better by
Wednesday. And, you know, dear, though we are all very sorry for Rosy,
it is only what she has brought on herself. I hope she has learnt a
lesson--more than one lesson--but, if she were to have the pleasure of
going to Summerlands, she might not remember it so well.
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