"She knows it is only for a short time that Rosy's aunt is here. She might make the best of it," thought Mrs. Vincent. For she did not know fully how lonely Bee's life now was, and how many cold or unkind words she had to bear from Rosy, not to speak of Nelson's sharp and almost rude manner; for, though Rosy was not cunning, Nelson was so, and she managed to make it seem always as if Bee, and not Rosy, was in fault.
"Where is Bee?" said Mrs. Vincent one afternoon when she went into the nursery, where, at this time of day, Nelson was now generally to be found.
"I don't know, mamma," said Rosy. Then, without saying any more about Bee, she went on eagerly, "Do look, mamma, at the lovely opera-cloak Nelson has made for my doll? It isn't quite ready—there's a little white fluff——"
"Swansdown, Miss Rosy, darling," said Nelson.
"Well, swansdown then—it doesn't matter—mamma knows," said Rosy sharply, "there's white stuff to go round the neck. Won't it be lovely, mother?"
She looked up with her pretty face all flushed with pleasure, for nobody could be prettier than Rosy when she was pleased.
"Yes dear, very pretty," said her mother. It was impossible to deny that Nelson was very kind and patient, and Mrs. Vincent would have felt really pleased if only she had not feared that Nelson did Rosy harm by her spoiling and flattery. "But where can Bee be?" she said again. "Does she not care about dolls too?"
"She used to," said Rosy. "But Bee is very fond of being alone now, mamma. And I don't care for her when she looks so gloomy."
"But what makes her so?" said Mrs. Vincent. "Are you quite kind to her, Rosy?"
"Oh indeed, yes, ma'am," interrupted Nelson, without giving Rosy time to answer. "Of that you may be very sure. Indeed many's the time I say to myself Miss Rosy's patience is quite wonderful. Such a free, outspoken young lady as she is, and Miss Bee so different. I don't like them secrety sort of children, and Miss Rosy feels it too—she—"