Greta listens with her brow furrowed in sympathy. Much as she might have daydreamed about being a Lady - the sort who might don a beautiful gown and attend a Festival - she hasn't actually done much mingling with the gentry, and what she had experienced wasn't always pleasant. Cinderella was all right, but she's not sure Cinderella even counted. It's not as if she was a Princess when Greta spoke with her in the Woods. Rather, Greta got the impression that she wasn't so different from any of her neighbors, just blessed with a bit more youth and much fancier wardrobe.

Including slippers as pure as gold, of course.

Point is, she doesn't envy Demelza's abrupt induction to the upper class. It all sounds terribly stressful - and not the sort of stress a working class person would be accustomed to.

"She sounds lovely," Greta says, starting to nudge a few things aside and clear some counter space. "And sensible." Which isn't a trait she necessarily expects from the gentry. Glancing over at Demelza, she adds, "It's hard to wish anyone here without feeling selfish, but... I'm glad she's happy, at least, if she can't be here."