Amanda Smith had just hung her briefcase on the rack when she heard Mrs. Johnson's words and couldn't help but turn around with some confusion.
Mrs. Johnson was in her forties but maintained herself like a woman in her thirties. She had a very noble-looking face, a nobility that she had passed on to Samuel Johnson. That man's temperament made this nobility even more exceptional.
Mrs. Johnson rarely spoke to her in that tone. Even waving her hand to dismiss the surrounding servants.
The gentle expression on Amanda's face slowly became a bit more sharp as she lowered her gaze to hide the emotions in her eyes, and obediently sat next to Mrs. Johnson.
"Mom, what's wrong?" Amanda finally asked after all the servants had left the hall.
Mrs. Johnson turned her well-maintained face towards her, gently put the dachshund in her arms on the ground, and patted its rear, waiting for it to walk away before lifting her head to look at Amanda.
