She talked to him wittily of the Avonlea people
and the changes in their old set. Peter followed her lead
with an apparent absence of self-consciousness, eating his supper
like a man whose heart and mind were alike on good terms with him.
Nancy felt wretched--and, at the same time, ridiculously happy.
It seemed the most grotesque thing in the world that she should
be presiding there at Peter's table, and yet the most natural.
There were moments when she felt like crying--other moments when
her laughter was as ready and spontaneous as a girl's. Sentiment
and humour had always waged an equal contest in Nancy's nature.
When Peter had finished his strawberries he folded his arms
on the table and looked admiringly at Nancy.
"You look well at the head of a table, Nancy," he said critically.
"How is it that you haven't been presiding at one of your own long
before this? I thought you'd meet a lots of men out in the world
that you'd like--men who talked good grammar."
"Peter, don't!" said Nancy, wincing. "I was a goose."
"No, you were quite right. I was a tetchy fool. If I'd had any sense,
I'd have felt thankful you thought enough of me to want to improve me,
and I'd have tried to kerrect my mistakes instead of getting mad.
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