"Well, I'm going to finish my tea, anyhow," said Uncle George.
She nodded at him, laughing. He nodded back, in his grim way. This was how they always told each other of their friendship.
"And there was a time when I didn't like you!" she exclaimed involuntarily.
He ducked his head again. "I'm quite aware of that, my girl."
He went to his harmonium, and Bessie, with a thousand fancies in her romantic heart, retired to wash up the dishes.
"Now tell me," said Edward Webb.
"It was only because I didn't love him enough," she said, and burst into a foolish weakness of tears.
He was pacing behind her chair, and she heard him muttering: "Thank God! thank God! Are you crying, Theresa? You mustn't do that, my dear. You've come home. I've got you back again. You must be happy." He patted her clumsily on the shoulder, and she dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. "It's good to have you back. We've missed you. Even George admitted that."
"Don't tell me such things," she said. "They've been the ruin of me. And you must let me be miserable for a little while! It's all I can do for Basil. I think I'll go to bed."
"Not yet. I told Bessie to light the fire."