"Do you think he's happy, or is he worrying? He talks to you, you know."
"I think he's happier than he's been for months."
She lay back with a sigh.
"I hope so," she said.
"And you?" he asked, timidly yet urgently.
It seemed useless to pretend complete ignorance, yet impossible to assert any knowledge.
"Oh, why talk about me? Talk about Adela."
"I love Adela," he said gravely, "as I've never loved any other woman. But when I was a young man and came here, you were very kind to me. And I—no, I'll go on now—I looked up to you, and thought you the—the grandest woman I knew; and to us young men you were a sort of queen. Well, I haven't changed, Mrs. Dennison. I still think all that, and, if you ever want a friend to help you, or—or a servant to serve you, why, you can call on me."
She sat silent while he spoke, gazing at the ground in front of her. Tom grew bolder.
"There was one thing I came to Dieppe to do, but I hadn't the courage there. I wanted to tell you that Harry—that Harry was worthy of your love. I thought—well, I've gone further than I thought I could. You know; you must forgive me. If there's one thing in all the world that makes me feel all I ever felt for you, and more, it's to see him happy again, and you here trying to make him. Because I know that, in a way, it's difficult."