Veronica knew it also.

At the right moment she cried out: "Help Verry, she is sorry." "Do eat your supper," Temperance called out in a loud voice.

"The hash is burnt to flinders." She remained in the room to comment on our appetites, and encourage Veronica, who was never hungry, to eat.
Veronica was an elfish creature, nine years old, diminutive and pale.
Her long, silky brown hair, which was as straight as an Indian's, like mother's, and which she tore out when angry, usually covered her face, and her wild eyes looked wilder still peeping through it.

She was too strange-looking for ordinary people to call her pretty, and so odd in her behavior, so full of tricks, that I did not love her.

She was a silent child, and liked to be alone.