"More than a child's," said Mrs. Vincent, smiling. "I think they are lovely—and what a pretty ornament they will be—fancy them on a white dress!"
"I am only sorry I have not two of them," said Mr. Furnivale, "or at least something else for the other little girl. You would not wish me, I suppose, to give the necklace to Beata instead of to Rosy?" he added.
Now Mrs. Vincent's own feeling was almost that she would better like it to be given to Beata. She was very unselfish, and her natural thought was that in anything of the kind, Bee, the little stranger, the child in her care, whose mother was so far away, should come first. But there was more to think of than this feeling of hers—
"It would be doing no real kindness to Bee," she said to herself, "to let Mr. Furnivale give it to her. It would certainly rouse that terrible jealousy of Rosy's, and it might grow beyond my power to undo the harm it would do. As it is, seeing, as I know she will, how simply and sweetly Beata behaves about it may do her lasting good, and draw the children still more together."
So she looked up at Mr. Furnivale with her pretty honest eyes—Rosy's eyes were honest too—and like her mother's when she was sweet and good—and said frankly,
"You won't think me selfish I am sure—I think you will believe that I do it from good motives—when I ask you not to change, but still to give it to Rosy. I will take care that little Bee does not suffer for it in the end."
"And I too," said Mr. Furnivale, "If I can find another necklace when I go back to Venice. I shall not forget to send it—indeed, I might write to the dealer beforehand to look out for one. I am sure you are right, and on the whole I am glad, for Cecy did buy it for your own little girl."
"Would you like to give it her now?" said Mrs. Vincent, and as Mr. Furnivale said "Yes," she went to the window opening out on to the lawn where the three children were now playing, and called Rosy.
"I wonder what mamma wants," thought Rosy to herself, as she walked towards the drawing-room rather slowly and sulkily, leaving Bee and Fixie to go on running races (for when I said "the children" were playing, I should have said Beata and Felix—not Rosy). "I daresay she will be going to scold me, now luncheon's over. I wish that ugly old Mr. Furniture would go away," for all the cross, angry, jealous thoughts had come back to poor Rosy since she had taken it into her head again about Bee being put before her, and all her good wishes and plans, which had grown stronger through her mother's gentleness, had again flown away, like a flock of frightened white doves, looking back at her with sad eyes as they flew.
Rosy's good angel, however, was very patient with her that day. Again she was to be tried with kindness instead of harshness; surely this time it would succeed.