Annie was careless, and she was dainty, and she was conscious of a little pleasurable preening of her own soul-plumage.
Margaret said nothing about the thimble and needle.

Annie sat regarding her with a sort of expectation, and the somewhat mussy little parcel of linen lay in her lap.

Annie folded over it her very slender hands, and the horrible hair ring was in full evidence.
Margaret fixed her eyes upon it.

Annie quickly placed the hand which wore it under the other.

Then she spoke, since Margaret did not, and she said exactly the wrong thing.