"I am very glad to hear it," said Mrs. Vincent, but she spoke rather
gravely, for on coming into the room it had not looked to her as if
everything _was_ "very nice." Beata looked grave and troubled,
Miss Pinkerton flurried, and there was a black cloud on Rosy's face
that her mother knew only too well. "What lessons are you at now?" she
went on.

"Oh, ah!" began Miss Pinkerton, fussing among some of the books that
lay on the table. "We've just finished a chapter of our English
history, and--and--I was thinking of giving the dear children a
dictation."

"It's not the time for dictation," said Rosy. And then to Bee's
surprise she burst out, "Miss Pink, I wonder how you can tell such
stories! Everything is not quite nice, mamma, for I've just been
telling Miss Pink I won't do any sums, and it's just the time for
sums. I wouldn't do them yesterday, and I won't do them to-day, or any
day, because I hate them."

"You 'won't' and you 'wouldn't,' Rosy," said her mother, so sternly
and coldly that Bee trembled for her, though Rosy gave no signs of
trembling for herself. "Is that a way in which I can allow you to
speak? You must apologise to Miss Pinkerton, and tell her you will be
ready to do _any_ lessons she gives you, or you must go upstairs
to your own room."

"I'll go upstairs to my own room then," said Rosy at once. "I'd
'pologise to you, mamma, if you like, but I won't to Miss Pink,
because she doesn't say what's true."