"What is your wish?" asked Belle, hoping mamma wouldn't come just
yet, for she was getting interested in the stranger.

"To have a nice little room, and make flowers, like a French girl I
know. It's such pretty work, and she gets lots of money, for every
one likes her flowers. She shows me how, sometimes, and I can do
leaves first-rate; but--"

There Lizzie stopped suddenly, and the color rushed up to her
forehead; for she remembered the little rose in her pocket and it
weighed upon her conscience like a stone.

Before Belle could ask what was the matter, Marie came in with a
tray of cake and fruit, saying:

"Here's your lunch, Miss Belle."

"Put it down, please; I'm not ready for it yet."

And Belle shook her head as she glanced at Lizzie, who was staring
hard at the fire with such a troubled face that Belle could not bear
to see it.

Jumping out of her nest of cushions, she heaped a plate with good
things, and going to Lizzie, offered it, saying, with a gentle
courtesy that made the act doubly sweet:

"Please have some; you must be tired of waiting."

But Lizzie could not take it; she could only cover her face and cry;