Nan was no whit in awe of her aunt's bitter tongue, and it was probably for this very reason that Mrs.McBain could not help liking her.

Most sharp-spoken people appreciate someone who is not afraid to stand up to them, and Nan and Mrs.McBain had crossed swords in many a wordy battle.
"Are you applying the name of Belial to poor old Barry ?" enquired Sandy with interest.

"I don't consider he's half earned it." "Barry Seymour's a puir weak fule and canna rule his ain hoose," came the curt answer.
Mrs.McBain habitually spoke as excellent English as only a Scotswoman can, but it pleased her on occasion to assume the Doric--much as a duchess may her tiara.
"Barry's a dear," protested Nan, "and he doesn't need to play at being master in his own house." "I'm willing to believe you.

That red-headed body is mistress and master too." Sandy grinned.
"I consider that remark eminently personal.

The hue of one's hair is a misfortune, not a fault," he submitted teasingly.