The Palace Beautiful by L.T. Meade

Primrose walked down the street, passing by the little cottage which for so many years had been her home. Her sisters did not expect her to return to dinner, and her heart was too full to allow her to go in just then.

So they were to be parted -- this was the advice of those who called themselves their friends. Primrose, Jasmine, and Daisy, her three flowers, as mother had called them, were no longer to grow sweetly in one garden together. They were to be parted -- Primrose was to go one way, and the little ones another. Impulsive Jasmine would no longer cry out her griefs on Primrose's neck, or tell her joys and griefs, her hopes and aspirations, to the calm and elder sister. Daisy -- their baby, as Primrose called her -- might be ill or sad, or lonely, and she, Primrose, would no longer be there to comfort her.