“Oh, she’s climbed up so high, queens isn’t good enough company for her,” suggested Abigail Walker, coming to Dolly’s help.
“Now, you two go your ways like tidy maids,” said the voice of Tom Fenton behind them; “and don’t make such a to-do of a Sabbath morning.
“Jenny, I’ll see you home if you give me leave.”
He spoke with a quiet dignity, which was not like the old Tom Fenton whom Jenny had known; and his manner was more that of a friend helping her to get rid of an annoyance, than that of a suitor who grasped at an opportunity of pleading his cause.
“I thank you, Tom, and I’ll be glad of it,” said the humbled and harassed Jenny.
So they went back together, Tom showing no sign that he heard Dorothy’s derisive cry of—
“Room for Her Majesty’s Grace’s Highness and her servant the carpenter!”
The word lover, at that day, meant simply a person who loved you; where we say “lover,” they said “servant.”
At the farmhouse door Tom took his leave.
“No, I thank you, Jenny,” he said, when she asked him to come in; “I’m going on to Uncle Anthony’s to dinner. Good morning.”