"Yes, she wanted three pairs of those."
"And did she want any lovely——"
"Yes," I said hastily, "she wanted lots of those, too. Lots of everything."
Margery gave a little sob of happiness. "Go on telling me," she said under her breath.
"Well, the third daughter was called Beauty. And she thought to herself, 'Poor Father won't have any money left at all, if we all go on like this!' So she didn't ask for anything very expensive, like her selfish sisters, she only asked for a rose. A simple red rose."
Margery moved uneasily.
"I hope," she said wistfully, "this bit isn't going to be about—you know. It never did before."
"About what?"
"Good little girls and bad little girls, and fings like that."
"My darling, no, of course not. I told it wrong. Beauty asked for a rose because she loved roses so. And it was a very particular kind of red rose that she wanted—a sort that they simply couldn't get to grow in their own garden because of the soil."