"What made you so vexed with Colin?" she asked. Rosy's face hardened.

"Mother," she said, "you'd better not ask me. It was because of
something he said that I don't want to tell you."

"About Beata?" asked her mother.

"Well," said Rosy, "if you know about it, it isn't my fault if you are
vexed. I don't want her to come--I don't want _any_ little girl
to come, because I know I shan't like her. I like boys better than
girls, and I don't like good little girls _at all_."

"Rosy," said her mother, "you are talking so sillily that if Fixie
even talked like that I should be quite surprised. I won't answer you.
I will not say any more about Beata--you know what I wish, and what is
right, and so I will leave it to you. And I will give you a kiss, my
little girl, to show you that I want to trust you to try to do right
about this."

She was stooping to kiss her, when Rosy stopped her.

"Thank you, mother," she said. "But I don't think I can take the kiss
like that--I don't _want_ to like the little girl."

"Rosy!" exclaimed her mother, almost in despair. Then another thought
struck her. She bent down again and kissed the child. "I _give_
you the kiss, Rosy," she said, "hoping it will at least make you
_wish_ to please me."

"Oh," said Rosy, "I do want to please you, mother, about everything