Camilla always wrote when she sat in the arbor, but nobody ever knew what.

She always carried the finely written sheets into the house, and nobody knew where she put them afterwards.

Camilla's long, thin fingers, smooth and white as ivory, sparkled dully with old rings.

Some large amethysts in fine gold settings she wore, one great yellow pearl, a mourning-ring of hair in a circlet of pearls for tears, and some diamond bands in silver, which gave out cold white lights only as her hands moved across the gilt-edged paper.
As for Lucina, she had set up her doll primly in a corner of the arbor, and was knitting her stent.

It might have seemed difficult to understand what the child found to enjoy in this quiet entertainment, but in childhood all situations which appeal to the imagination give enjoyment, and most situations which break the routine of daily life do so appeal.