“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” said Flick sweetly. “No one’s going to ask you.”
“Well, you certainly have got your nerve,” said Belle, mistaking the initiative. “If you want a slave, why don’t you get a wife?”
“Miss Brewster has offered to do it out of the kindness of her heart,” said King O’Leary, seeing Millie overcome with embarrassment.
“Sit down, Belle; we’re keeping the family mending for you.”
Before Belle could get her breath to retort, Millie broke in:
“Oh, please—I expected—I wanted to do that—really I did!”
The tone in which it was said struck each one. Each felt the loneliness from which the girl was struggling. Belle gave her a short look of amazement and then went up and put her arm around her with abrupt good nature, saying:
“Don’t mind my jawing. I’m a rough nut. Bless your heart, don’t worry; you shall do it!”
“’Pon my word,” said Flick aggressively, “who’s disposing of things around here?”
“I am,” said Belle, shrugging her shoulders.