"What is your wish?" asked Belle, hoping mamma wouldn't come just
yet, for she was getting interested in the stranger.
"To have a nice little room, and make flowers, like a French girl I
know. It's such pretty work, and she gets lots of money, for every
one likes her flowers. She shows me how, sometimes, and I can do
leaves first-rate; but--"
There Lizzie stopped suddenly, and the color rushed up to her
forehead; for she remembered the little rose in her pocket and it
weighed upon her conscience like a stone.
Before Belle could ask what was the matter, Marie came in with a
tray of cake and fruit, saying:
"Here's your lunch, Miss Belle."
"Put it down, please; I'm not ready for it yet."
And Belle shook her head as she glanced at Lizzie, who was staring
hard at the fire with such a troubled face that Belle could not bear
to see it.
Jumping out of her nest of cushions, she heaped a plate with good
things, and going to Lizzie, offered it, saying, with a gentle
courtesy that made the act doubly sweet:
"Please have some; you must be tired of waiting.
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