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.

"I rather want to cry myself, and I am stronger than she is.