I won't bother at all now, but I am not going to let you wait upon me.

I am going to help you." Sylvia took one of Rose's little hands and looked at it.

"I guess you can't do much with hands like yours," said she, admiringly, and with an odd tone of resentment, as if she were indignant at the mere suggestion of life's demanding service from this dainty little creature, for whom she was ready to immolate herself.
However, Rose had in her a vein of persistency.

She insisted upon wiping the dishes and dusting.

She did it all very badly, but Sylvia found the oddest amusement in chiding her for her mistakes and in setting them right herself.