"Mr. Furnivale may perhaps be able to get one something like it for Bee, when he goes back to Italy."
"Then I may show it to her. It won't be unkind to show it her?" asked Rosy. And when her mother said "No, it would not be unkind," feeling sure, with her faith in Bee's goodness that Rosy's pleasure would be met with the heartiest sympathy—for "sympathy," dears, can be shown to those about us in their joys as well as in their sorrows—Rosy ran off in the highest spirits. Mr. Furnivale smiled as he saw her delight, and Mrs. Vincent was, oh so pleased to be able to tell him, that Rosy, of herself, had offered to give it to Bee, that that was what she had been whispering about.
"Not that Beata would have been willing to take it," she added, "she is the most unselfish child possible."
[Illustration: 'DID YOU EVER SEE ANYTHING SO PRETTY, BEE?' ROSY REPEATED.]
"And unselfishness is sometimes, catching, luckily for poor human nature," said the old gentleman, laughing. And Mrs. Vincent laughed too—the whole world seemed to have grown brighter to her since the little gleam she believed she had had of true gold at the bottom of Rosy's wayward little heart.
And Rosy ran gleefully off to her friend.
"Bee, Bee," she cried, "stop playing, do. I have something to show you. And you too, Fixie, you may come and see it if you like. See," as the two children ran up to her breathlessly, and she opened the box, "see," and she held up the lovely necklace, lovelier than ever as it glittered in the sunshine, every colour seeming to mix in with the others and yet to stand out separate in the most beautiful way. "Did you ever see anything so pretty, Bee?" Rosy repeated.
"Never," said Beata, with her whole heart in her voice.
"Nebber," echoed Fixie, his blue eyes opened twice as wide as usual.
"And is it yours, Rosy?" asked Bee.