Poor Tom had been a good deal buffeted of late, and a friendly stroking was a pleasant change. He looked up with a smile, but as he looked up Adela looked away.
"I think I'll stop those articles," said he.
"Yes, do," she cried, a bright smile on her face.
"They've pretty well done their work, too."
"Don't! Don't spoil it! But—but don't you get money for them?"
Tom was in better humour now. He held out his hand with his old friendly smile.
"Oh, wait till I am in the workhouse, and then you shall take me out."
"I don't believe I did mean that," protested Adela.
"You always mean everything that—that the best woman in the world could mean," and Tom wrung her hand and disappeared.
Adela's hand was rather crushed and hurt, and for a moment she stood regarding it ruefully.