"I wonder what Rosy looks like now," the poor woman said involuntarily
one day. Bettina was not a fairy. When her mother uttered her
exclamation Bettina was on the point of going out, and as she stood near
her, wrapped in splendid furs, she had the air of a Russian princess.
"She could not have worn the things you do, Betty," said the affectionate
maternal creature. "She was such a little, slight thing. But she was
very pretty. I wonder if twelve years have changed her much?"
Betty turned towards her rather suddenly.
"Mother," she said, "sometime, before very long, I am going to see."
"To see!" exclaimed Mrs. Vanderpoel. "To see Rosy!"
"Yes," Betty answered. "I have a plan. I have never told you of it, but
I have been thinking over it ever since I was fifteen years old."
She went to her mother and kissed her. She wore a becoming but resolute
expression.
"We will not talk about it now," she said. "There are some things I must
find out."
When she had left the room, which she did almost immediately, Mrs.
Vanderpoel sat down and cried. She nearly always shed a few tears
when anyone touched upon the subject of Rosy. On her desk were some
photographs. One was of Rosy as a little girl with long hair, one was of
Lady Anstruthers in her wedding dress, and one was of Sir Nigel.
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