"The mistress's nerves gets upset with a bit of noise."
"Your mistress seems to get upset with the slightest provocation."
"She does, sir. I saw her cryin' not so long ago over a bunch of honeysuckle. She was took reg'lar bad—red eyes and nose."
"Well, of course she'll miss gathering it this year. The deuce knows why women like picking things full of d—ahem! abominable insects. But they're born that way—born stupid."
I surprised a gentle note almost in the first part of his sentence which filled me with wonder. Was Peter really sorry for me?
And as though he were ashamed of his unwonted softness his next remark made Amelia skip. I could distinctly hear her skip, and it made me laugh. Few people can make her run, let alone skip.
"This pudding makes me sick, girl. It smells of suet, reeks of suet. Remove it at once!" he thundered.
She stood her ground for a moment.
"But the mistress hasn't had any."
"Remove that pudding!"