had struck her father and mother that perhaps their friends, Rosy's
parents, might be able to help them, and they had written to ask them;
and so it had come about that little Beata was to come to live with
them. It had all seemed so natural and nice. Rosy's mother was so
pleased about it, for she thought it would be just what Rosy needed to
make her a pleasanter and more reasonable little girl.

"Beata is such a nice child," she said to Rosy's father when they were
talking about it, "and not one bit spoilt. I think it is _sure_
to do Rosy good," and, full of pleasure in the idea, she told Rosy
about it.

But--one man may bring a horse to the water, but twenty can't make him
drink, says the old proverb--Rosy made up her mind on the spot, at the
very first instant, that she wouldn't like Beata, and that her coming
was on purpose to vex _her_, Rosy, as it seemed to her that most
things which she had to do with in the world were. And this was what
had put her in such a temper the first time we saw her--when she would
have liked to put out her vexation on Manchon even, if she had dared!

Rosy's mother felt very disappointed, but she saw it was better to say
no more. She had told Colin about Beata coming, but not Felix, for as
he knew and loved the little girl already, she was afraid that his
delight might rouse Rosy's jealous feelings. For the prettiest thing
in Rosy was her love for her little brother, only it was often spoilt
by her _exactingness_. Fixie must love her as much or better than
anybody--he must be all hers, or else she would not love him at all.
That was how she sometimes talked to him, and it puzzled and
frightened him--he was such a very little fellow, you see. And
_mother_ had never told him that loving other people too made his