"Oh, it can't be as bad as all that. Come on, can't I interest you in some soup? I make a pretty mean vegetable barley, if I do say so myself." "You know I love your food. It's just that my stomach is in knots. I noticed a gray hair in the mirror the other day." "Oh please, you're still just a girl," Ibis laughed, then caught himself. "I guess I shouldn't speak to you that way, you being noble and all. I should be saying, 'Yes, Your Ladyship,' or in this case, 'No, no, Your Ladyship! If you'll allow me to be so bold as to speak plainly in your presence, I beg to differ, for I think you're purty as a pot!' That would be a more proper response." Amilia smiled. "You know, I never have understood that saying of yours." Ibis drew himself up in feigned offense. "I'm a cook. I like pots."