Jill: a Flower Girl by L.T. Meade

Jill had a very successful morning with her flowers; they were the envy and admiration of all the other flower women. Even Molly Maloney felt as if she must indulge in a fit of crossness when she saw those water-lilies, carnations and rose-buds. But there was something in Jill's face which soon made the other women cease to feel unkindly towards her. Trouble was new to Jill, and the frightened, half-pathetic, half-despairing expression of her fall, velvety brows eyes gave the flower girls who came to talk to her and to admire her basket a queer sensation. They were curious, but their curiosity was not likely to be gratified by Jill. Even to Molly Maloney she scarcely vouchsafed a word of explanation.

"I'm in a bit of worry about mother," she said once, in a low whisper; "Don't speak on it, Molly; it'll pass, no doubt. You ain't seen mother this morning, ha' you? She han't chanced to call round to ask arter Kathleen?"