But when the magic music ceased, she jumped up, and running toward Tom, put her arm round his neck and said, "Oh, Tom, isn't it pretty ?" Lest you should think it showed a revolting insensibility in Tom that he felt any new anger toward Maggie for this uncalled-for and, to him, inexplicable caress, I must tell you that he had his glass of cowslip wine in his hand, and that she jerked him so as to make him spill half of it.

He must have been an extreme milksop not to say angrily, "Look there, now!" especially when his resentment was sanctioned, as it was, by general disapprobation of Maggie's behavior.
"Why don't you sit still, Maggie ?" her mother said peevishly.
"Little gells mustn't come to see me if they behave in that way," said aunt Pullet.
"Why, you're too rough, little miss," said uncle Pullet.
Poor Maggie sat down again, with the music all chased out of her soul, and the seven small demons all in again.
Mrs.Tulliver, foreseeing nothing but misbehavior while the children remained indoors, took an early opportunity of suggesting that, now they were rested after their walk, they might go and play out of doors; and aunt Pullet gave permission, only enjoining them not to go off the paved walks in the garden, and if they wanted to see the poultry fed, to view them from a distance on the horse-block; a restriction which had been imposed ever since Tom had been found guilty of running after the peacock, with an illusory idea that fright would make one of its feathers drop off.
Mrs.Tulliver's thoughts had been temporarily diverted from the quarrel with Mrs.Glegg by millinery and maternal cares, but now the great theme of the bonnet was thrown into perspective, and the children were out of the way, yesterday's anxieties recurred.
"It weighs on my mind so as never was," she said, by way of opening the subject, "sister Glegg's leaving the house in that way.

I'm sure I'd no wish t' offend a sister." "Ah," said aunt Pullet, "there's no accounting for what Jane 'ull do.
I wouldn't speak of it out o' the family, if it wasn't to Dr.
Turnbull; but it's my belief Jane lives too low.

I've said so to Pullet often and often, and he knows it." "Why, you said so last Monday was a week, when we came away from drinking tea with 'em," said Mr.Pullet, beginning to nurse his knee and shelter it with his pocket-hand-kerchief, as was his way when the conversation took an interesting turn.
"Very like I did," said Mrs.Pullet, "for you remember when I said things, better than I can remember myself.

He's got a wonderful memory, Pullet has," she continued, looking pathetically at her sister.