"Aren't you afraid and lonely and unhappy?" she said, slowly, trying to understand and put herself in Lizzie's place.
"Yes; but it's no use. I can't help it, and may be things will get better by and by, and I'll have my wish," answered Lizzie, more hopefully, because Belle's pity warmed her heart and made her troubles seem lighter.
"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."
