Annie was almost inconceivably a child, much more of a child than Maida or Adelaide Edes.

They had been allowed to grow like weeds as far as their imagination was concerned, and she had been religiously pruned.
The next afternoon she put on her white barred muslin and obtained her Aunt Harriet's permission to spend an hour or two with Margaret if she would work assiduously on her daisy centre piece, and stepped like a white dove across the shady village street.

Annie, unless she remembered to do otherwise, was prone to toe in slightly with her slender feet.

She was also prone to allow the tail of her white gown to trail.

She gathered it up only when her Aunt called after her.