"How very, very pretty," she repeated, touching the beads softly with
her little fingers. And then with a sudden change she turned to her
mother.

"Is there a necklace for Bee, too?" she said.

Mrs. Vincent's first feeling was of pleasure that Rosy should think of
her little friend, but there was in the child's face a look that made
her not sure that the question _was_ quite out of kindness to
Bee, and the mother's voice was a little grave and sad, as she
answered.

"No, Rosy. There is not one for Bee. Mr. Furnivale brought it for you
only."

Then Rosy's face was a curious study. There was a sort of pleasure in
it--and this, I must truly say, was not pleasure that Bee had
_not_ a present also, for Rosy was not greedy or even selfish in
the common way, but it was pleasure at being put first, and joined to
this pleasure was a nice honest sorrow that Bee was left out. Now that
Rosy was satisfied that she herself was properly treated she found
time to think of Bee. And though the necklace had been six times as
pretty, though it had been all pearls or diamonds, it would not have
given Mrs. Vincent half the pleasure that this look of real unselfish
sorrow in Rosy's face sent through her heart. More still, when the
little girl, bending to her mother, whispered softly,

"Mamma, would it be right of me to give it to Bee? I wouldn't mind
very much."