Jessie. [Stroking the silk.] O Mother, the feel of it be softer nor a dove’s feather.
Robin. [Feeling it too.] ’Tis better nor the new kittens’ fur.
Emily. Let us see if your aunt have done more handsomely towards you children.
Clara. I am afraid not. These coral beads are for Miss Jessie, with her aunt’s dear love. And this book of pictures is for Master Robin.
Jessie. [Seizing the beads with delight.] I love a string of beads. [Putting them on.] How do they look on me?
Emily. Off with them this moment. I’ll learn her to give strings of rubbish to my child.
Jessie. [Beginning to cry.] O do let me wear it just a little while, just till dinner, Mother.
Emily. Have done with that noise. Off with it at once, do you hear.
Jessie. [Taking the necklace off.] I love the feel of it—might I keep it in my hand then?
Emily. [Seizing it.] ’Twill be put by with the silk dress. So there. ’Tis not a suitable thing for a little girl like you.