"Really, it's most unhealthy." It was quite impossible for her to believe that a child of three could really be interested by golden sunsets, the colours of the fountain that was in the centre of the gardens, the soft, grey haze that clothed the houses on a spring evening; and when, therefore, she saw Angelina gazing at these things, she decided that the child was morbid.

Any interest, however, that Angelina may have taken in her aunts before Rose's arrival was now reduced to less than nothing at all.
"That doll that Edward gave the child," said Miss Emily to her sister, "is having a very bad effect on her.

Makes her more moody than ever." "Such a hideous thing!" said Miss Violet.

"Well, I shall take it away if I see much more of this nonsense." It was lucky for Rose meanwhile that she was of a healthy constitution.
The meals, the dressing and undressing, the perpetual demands upon her undivided attention, the sudden rousings from her sleep, the swift rockings back into slumber again, the appeals for response, the abuses for indifference, these things would have slain within a week one of her more feeble sisters.

But Rose was made of stern stuff, and her rosy cheeks were as rosy, the brightness of her eyes was undimmed.