"No," said Bee, "not exactly, but—"
"But you have seen that there were unkind thoughts about you. Well, I am very sorry for it, but at present I can do no more. You are old enough and sensible enough to see that several things have not been as I like or wish lately. But it is often so in this world. I was very sorry for Martha to have to go away, but it could not be helped, Now, Bee, think it over. Would you rather go away, for a time any way, or will you bravely determine not to mind what you know you don't deserve, knowing that I trust you fully?"
"Yes," said Bee at once, "I will not mind it any more. And Rosy perhaps," here her voice faltered, "Rosy perhaps will like me better if I don't seem so dull."
Mrs. Vincent looked grave when Bee spoke of Rosy, so grave that Bee almost wished she had not said it.
"It is very hard," she heard Rosy's mother say, as if speaking to herself, "just when I thought I had gained a better influence over her. Very hard."
Bee threw her arms round Mrs. Vincent's neck.
"Dear auntie," she said, "don't be unhappy about Rosy. I will be patient, and I know it will come right again, and I won't be unhappy any more."
Mrs. Vincent kissed her.
"Yes, dear Bee," she said, "we must both be patient and hopeful."
And then they went out, and during the walk Beata noticed that Mrs. Vincent talked about other things—old times in India that Bee could remember, and plans for the future when her father and mother should come home again to stay. Only just as they were entering the house on their return, Bee could not help saying,