Nanny appeared, looking very red and heated--the fact was, she had been 'doing up' the kitchen fire, and that is a sort of work which by no means conduces to blandness of temper.

'Nanny, you have forgotten Jet's milk; will you bring me some more cream, please ?' This was just a little too much for Nanny's forbearance.

'Yes, I dare say.

Here am I wi' my hands full o' the children an' the dinner, and missis ill a-bed, and Mr.Brand a-comin'; and I must run o'er the village to get more cream, 'cause you've give it to that nasty little blackamoor.' 'Is Mrs.Barton ill ?' 'Ill--yes--I should think she is ill, an' much you care.

She's likely to be ill, moithered as _she_ is from mornin' to night, wi' folks as had better be elsewhere.' 'What do you mean by behaving in this way ?' 'Mean?
Why I mean as the missis is a slavin' her life out an' a-sittin' up o'nights, for folks as are better able to wait of _her_, i'stid o' lyin' a-bed an' doin' nothin' all the blessed day, but mek work.' 'Leave the room and don't be insolent.' 'Insolent! I'd better be insolent than like what some folks is,--a-livin' on other folks, an' bringin' a bad name on 'em into the bargain.' Here Nanny flung out of the room, leaving the lady to digest this unexpected breakfast at her leisure.
The Countess was stunned for a few minutes, but when she began to recall Nanny's words, there was no possibility of avoiding very unpleasant conclusions from them, or of failing to see her position at the Vicarage in an entirely new light.