"And you are not tired of seeing me, Bessie, you are sure of that?" he repeated.
"You are a silly fellow to ask such questions," she replied; "you know how glad I am to have you come."
"You're a darling old girl," cried Tom, "and there's no more to be said about it."
"Then, if you have finished, please pick up my unfortunate table. See what a state these poor silks are in."
"I'm always in mischief," said Tom, contritely, restoring the table to its equilibrium with great difficulty; "I'm more out of place in a lady's parlor than an owl in a canary bird's cage."
"Your mistakes are better than other men's elegancies," said Elizabeth, heartily.
It rested her to be in Tom's society; with him she was not forced constantly to play a part, and he had been a great resource to her ever since his return.
Many times she said to herself:
"He would love me, whatever came—I can always depend on him."
She was thinking something of the kind, just then, while she began assorting her silks; and Tom stood meekly by, longing to repair the mischief he had occasioned, but perfectly certain that he should only do a good deal more harm if he attempted it.