I will not have you snapping at your best friend and mine.

If you are excited, you had better retire to your own room and compose yourself.

I hate a clamor." Rosa made a wry face at this rebuke, and then began to cry quietly.
Every tear was like a drop of blood from Christopher's heart.

"Pray don't scold her, sir," said he, ready to snivel himself.

"She meant nothing unkind: it is only her pretty sprightly way; and she did not really imagine a love so reverent as mine"-- "Don't YOU interfere between my father and me," said this reasonable young lady, now in an ungovernable state of feminine irritability.
"No, Rosa," said Christopher, humbly.