"Ah, sir," answered Tom, "a man does not go so mad for a girl as I did for Jessie Wiles, and when it is all over, and he has come to his senses, put his heart into joint again as easily as if it were only a broken leg. I don't say that I may not live to love and to marry another woman: it is my wish to do so. But I know that I shall love Jessie to my dying day; but not sinfully, sir,—not sinfully. I would not wrong her by a thought."
There was a long pause.
At last Kenelm said, "You promised to be kind to that little girl with the flower-ball; what has become of her?"
"She is quite well, thank you, sir. My aunt has taken a great fancy to her, and so has my mother. She comes to them very often of an evening, and brings her work with her. A quick, intelligent little thing, and full of pretty thoughts. On Sundays, if the weather is fine, we stroll out together in the fields."
"She has been a comfort to you, Tom."
"Oh, yes."
"And loves you?"
"I am sure she does; an affectionate, grateful child."
"She will be a woman soon, Tom, and may love you as a woman then."
Tom looked indignant and rather scornful at that suggestion, and hastened to revert to the subject more immediately at his heart.