"She has not been overworked," Mrs. Vincent said.
"And she seems very sweet-tempered and gentle. A happy disposition, I should think," said the doctor, as he hastened away.
His words made Mrs. Vincent feel rather sad. It was true—Bee had a happy disposition—she had never, till lately, seen her anything but bright and cheery.
"My poor little Bee," she thought, "I was hard upon her. I did not quite understand her. In my anxiety about Rosy when her aunt and Nelson came I fear I forgot Bee. But I do trust all that is over, and that Rosy has truly learnt a lesson. And we must all join to make little Bee happy again."
She returned to Bee's room. The child was sitting up in bed, her eyes sparkling in her white face—she was very eager about something.
"Auntie," she said, "you see I cannot possibly go to-morrow. And you must go, for poor Lady Esther is counting on you to help her. Auntie, you will forgive poor Rosy now quite, won't you, and let her go in my dress?"
The pleading eyes, the white face, the little hot hands laid coaxingly on hers—it would not have been easy to refuse! Besides, the doctor had said she was neither to be excited nor distressed.
The tears were in Mrs. Vincent's eyes as she bent down to kiss the little girl, but she did not let her see them.
"I will speak to Rosy, dear," she said. "I will tell her how much you want her to go in your place; and I think perhaps you are right—I don't think it will make her forget."
"Thank you, dear auntie," said Bee, as fervently as if Mrs. Vincent had promised her the most delightful treat in the world.