But her father's brow knitted slightly.
She tossed it wildly: it fell with a little splashing explosion: it had smashed.

It had fallen on the sharp edge of the tiles that protruded under the fender.
"NOW what have you done!" cried the mother.
The child stood with her lip between her teeth, a look, half, of pure misery and dismay, half of satisfaction, on her pretty sharp face.
"She wanted to break it," said the father.
"No, she didn't! What do you say that for!" said the mother.

And Millicent burst into a flood of tears.
He rose to look at the fragments that lay splashed on the floor.
"You must mind the bits," he said, "and pick 'em all up." He took one of the pieces to examine it.

It was fine and thin and hard, lined with pure silver, brilliant.

He looked at it closely.