‘My gracious me! You are really the last person in the world I should have thought of seeing, I am sure!’
Tom was sorry to hear her speaking in her old manner. He had not expected that. Yet he did not feel it a contradiction that he should be sorry to see her so unlike her old self, and sorry at the same time to hear her speaking in her old manner. The two things seemed quite natural.
‘I wonder you find any gratification in coming to see me. I can’t think what put it in your head. I never had much in seeing you. There was no love lost between us, Mr Pinch, at any time, I think.’
Her bonnet lay beside her on the sofa, and she was very busy with the ribbons as she spoke. Much too busy to be conscious of the work her fingers did.
‘We never quarrelled,’ said Tom.—Tom was right in that, for one person can no more quarrel without an adversary, than one person can play at chess, or fight a duel. ‘I hoped you would be glad to shake hands with an old friend. Don’t let us rake up bygones,’ said Tom. ‘If I ever offended you, forgive me.’
She looked at him for a moment; dropped her bonnet from her hands; spread them before her altered face, and burst into tears.
‘Oh, Mr Pinch!’ she said, ‘although I never used you well, I did believe your nature was forgiving. I did not think you could be cruel.’
She spoke as little like her old self now, for certain, as Tom could possibly have wished. But she seemed to be appealing to him reproachfully, and he did not understand her.
‘I seldom showed it—never—I know that. But I had that belief in you, that if I had been asked to name the person in the world least likely to retort upon me, I would have named you, confidently.’
‘Would have named me!’ Tom repeated.