always see things very quickly; she needed to think them over, when,
to her surprise, Rosy looked up.

"It isn't true," she said, not very respectfully it must be owned, "it
isn't true that Bee has been careless. If Miss Pink thinks telling
stories about Bee will make me any better, she's very silly, and I
shall just not care what she says about anything."

"Rosy," said Mrs. Vincent sternly, "you shall care what _I_ say.
Go to your room and stay there, and you, Beata, go to yours. I am
surprised that you should encourage Rosy in her naughty contradiction,
for it is nothing else that makes her speak so of what Miss Pink felt
obliged to say of you."

Rosy turned away with the cool sullen manner that had not been seen
for some time. Bee, choking with sobs--never, _never_, she said
to herself, not even when her mother went away, had she felt so
miserable, never had Aunt Lillias spoken to her like that before--poor
Bee rushed off to her room, and shutting the door, threw herself on
the floor and wondered _what_ she should do!

Mrs. Vincent, if she had only known it, was nearly as unhappy as she.
It was not often she allowed herself to feel worried and vexed, as she
had felt that morning, but everything had seemed to go wrong--Miss
Pink's complaints, which were _not_ true, about Bee had really
grieved her. For Miss Pink had managed to make it seem that it was
mostly Bee's fault---and she had said little things which had made
Mrs. Vincent really unhappy about Bee being so very sweet and good
before people, but not _really_ so good when one saw more of her.