"... and Joseph wouldn't pluck the cherries," somebody was whispering to the tiny Angela....
The little Angela, within the arms that held her, murmured, "It's the gipsies, isn't it, mother?"
Oh, yes, and I think my sister--Lady Angela, you know--wants particularly for you to come up to the hotel with me this evening.
Over at the altar Jack was leering at his new-made bride, past decency; and little Angela held the wooden horse's head, which had parted from its body.
In the intervals of kissing they told one another in whispers that Aunt Rachel was not very well, and Angela woke Flora to tell her that Aunt Rachel had Brown Titus also.
It was as Angela, the youngest, was chastising her for some offence, that Sabrina, the eldest, looked with wondering eyes on the babe in the gipsy's sling. She approached on tiptoe.