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Updated: May 7, 2025
At the time this story begins, Beata and Romola were fourteen and thirteen years of age. They thoroughly maintained the family reputation for good looks. There was a certain resemblance between them, and yet a difference. Beata's eyes were clear grey, with dark lines round the iris, and her hair was the exact shade of one of her father's best English gold picture frames.
Beata's uncle left that evening, but before he went away he had the pleasure of seeing his little niece quite herself again. "That's right," he said, as he bade her good-bye, "I don't know what came over you this afternoon." Beata did not say anything, but she just kissed her uncle, and whispered, "Give my love to dear grandmother, and tell her I am going to try to be very good."
He held her hand in a mute caress, but with preoccupation, while his eyes wandered back to the Piazzetta searchingly. "It is strange," he muttered to himself, still watching from the end of the balcony. "It was an echo of the Lady Beata's voice that startled me, crossing the Piazzetta saying two words only 'In Padua." Then rousing himself, he turned brightly to his wife.
The ladies wished they could do the same; and Paula was allowed to accept Sister Beata's humble entreaty to house her. But they did not know how long before the telegraph from St. Malo the Kittiwake from St. Cadoc had spread her wings and hoisted her feather, for, happily, her coals had held out better than her provisions.
So Rosy stood still, grave and silent, but with some trouble in her face, and her mother felt a little, just a very little vexed with Beata for beginning so dolefully. "It will discourage Rosy," she said to herself, "just when I was so anxious for Beata to win her affection from the first." And Beata's uncle, too, looked disappointed. Just when he had been praising her so for her bravery!
Beata's father and mother were obliged to go back to India, and it had been settled that their little girl was to be left at home with her grandmother. But just a short time before they were to leave, her grandmother had a bad illness, and it was found she would not be well enough to take charge of the child.
Vincent, surprised at Beata's silence, looked at her again, all the light had faded out of the little face, and again she seemed on the point of tears. "How strangely changeable she is," thought Mrs. Vincent, "I am sure she used not to be so; she was merry and pleased just as she seemed a moment or two ago." "What is the matter, dear?" she said. "You look so distressed again.
Then at last Rosy said, "Will you come into the drawing-room?" for she saw that her mother and Beata's uncle were already on their way there. "Thank you," said Beata, and then they quietly followed the big people.
"What a queer little girl she is!" thought Rosy, but she did not say so. " Poor Maud," continued the gentleman. "It is a great comfort to her to leave the child in such good hands." "I hope she will be happy," said Rosy's mother. "I will do my best to make her so." "I am very sure of that," said Beata's uncle. "It is a great disappointment to her grandmother not to have her with her.
Vincent thought her queer and changeable, rude even, perhaps, though she only smiled at Beata's begging not to be praised, and Rosy, who had heard what she said, gave her no thanks for it, but the opposite. "That's all pretence," thought Rosy. "Everybody likes to be praised." Mrs.
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