'Don't want to watch,' said Floss; 'haven't got any dressing-gown.'
Mrs. Cameron was standing in the bedroom doorway. She held out a box of fascinating doll's tea-things.
'Those are rather pretty, aren't they?' she said. 'We almost decided on a blue set, but then these little pink flowers seemed so fresh-looking we took it.'
Flossie sent a devouring gaze to the beautiful boxful through the bars of her cot. Then she squeezed her eyes up tightly again.
'Wouldn't look at them,' she said.
The mother went away, and the darkness deepened in the room, and Floss lay gazing with hard eyes at a patch of light thrown from the living-room lamp upon the ceiling.
Her heart swelled more and more; she pictured miserable scenes in which, while the rest of the family flaunted about in silk, she, Floss, was attired in rags and had crusts only to eat.
'Only,' she muttered to herself, 'I won't eat them, and then I'll die, and p'r'aps she'll be sorry.'
There was a movement in the room.
'I think I'll lie down quietly on your bed for an hour, Miss Browne,' the mother's voice was saying; 'it will do my head good. Yes, thank you, I have the bottle of lavender water here; I never travel without getting a bad head.'