"I have brought her a paper of Maillard's sweet things," said Tom; "might I call or send for her?"
He darted towards the door as he spoke, but Elizabeth stopped him.
"Wait a moment, Tom," she said; "come back here."
"Yes, of course; I'll be back in a flash—I'll just send her these traps," and he pulled a couple of tempting packages from his pocket, nattily tied with pink ribbons and got up generally in the exquisite taste which distinguishes everything from our Frenchman's establishment.
"No," urged Elizabeth, "come here first; I have something to say to you, Tom—Elsie can eat her bon-bons after."
Tom came back, rather unwillingly though, and stood leaning against the window like a criminal.
"Sit down," said Elizabeth.
"No, no! I like to stand! Well, what is it, Bessie?"
"Tom," she said, seriously, "I am afraid you have forgotten the experience which cost you so much pain and drove you off to Europe; I fear you are making other and deeper trouble for yourself."
"Oh, no, Bessie—it's of no consequence any way," returned Tom, turning fifty different shades of red at once, "What a pretty green that silk is."