The histrionics had been surprising and totally unexpected. They left her nettled. Piqued. Or, to put it quite plainly, in something of a huff. She hadn't even been given the opportunity to deliver her well-rehearsed "midnight" speech and that was vexing to say the least.
Who would have thought the little scullery maid would turn to such mush (rather like the pulp scooped out of the pumpkin coach) before taking off in an absolute panic at the sight of six tiny white mice?
The fairy godmother slipped her wand back into its holster.