"Oh, Betty!" was Rosy's faint nervous exclamation, "you seem so
beautiful and--so--so strange--that you frighten me."
Betty laughed with the softest possible cheerfulness, shaking her a
little.
"I shall not seem strange long," she said, "after I have stayed with you
a few weeks, if you will let me stay with you."
"Let you! Let you!" in a sort of gasp.
Poor little Lady Anstruthers sank on to a settle and began to cry again.
It was plain that she always cried when things occurred. Ughtred's
speech from his window seat testified at once to that.
"Don't cry, mother," he said. "You know how we've talked that over
together. It's her nerves," he explained to Bettina. "We know it only
makes things worse, but she can't stop it."
Bettina sat on the settle, too. She herself was not then aware of the
wonderful feeling the poor little spare figure experienced, as her
softly strong young arms curved about it. She was only aware that she
herself felt that this was a heart-breaking thing, and that she must
not--MUST not let it be seen how much she recognised its woefulness.
This was pretty, fair Rosy, who had never done a harm in her happy
life--this forlorn thing was her Rosy.
"Never mind," she said, half laughing again.
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