believed that she herself was very ugly, which, I may tell you,
children, as Rosy won't hear what we say, was quite a mistake.
Everybody is a _little_ pretty who is sweet and good, for though
being sweet and good doesn't alter the colour of one's hair or the
shape of one's nose, it does a great deal; it makes the cross lines
smooth away, or, rather, prevents their coming, and it certainly gives
the eyes a look that nothing else gives, does it not? But Rosy's face,
alas! was very often spoilt by frowns, and dark looks often took away
the prettiness of her eyes, and this was the more pity as the good
fairies who had welcomed her at her birth had evidently meant her to
be pretty. She had very soft bright hair, and a very white skin, and
large brown eyes that looked lovely when she let sweet thoughts and
feelings shine through them; but though she had many faults, she was
not vain, and she really thought she was not pleasant-looking at all.

"Beata is sure to be pretty," thought Rosy. "I daresay she'll have
beautiful black hair, and blue eyes like Lady Albertine." Albertine
was Rosy's best doll. "And I daresay she'll be very clever, and play
the piano and speak French far better than me. I don't mind that. I
like pretty people, and I don't mind people being clever. What I don't
like is, people who are dedfully _good_ always going on about how
good they are, and how naughty _other_ people is. If she doesn't
do that way I shan't mind so much, but I'm sure she _will_ do
that way. Yes, Manchon," she said aloud, "I'm sure she will, and you
needn't begin 'froo'in' about it."

For Rosy was in the drawing-room when all these thoughts were passing
through her mind--she was there with her afternoon frock on, and a
pretty muslin apron, all nice to meet Beata and her uncle, who were
expected very soon. And Manchon was on the rug as usual, quite