“I’d be bound to what I said, ribbons or no ribbons,” said Tom firmly. “But I see how it is—it’s that scented idiot, Featherstone, has come betwixt you and me. O Jenny, my dear love, don’t you listen to him! He’ll not be bound to a word he says the minute it’s not comfortable to keep it. He’ll just win your heart, Jenny, and then throw you o’ one side like a withered flower, as soon as ever he sees a fresh one as suits him better. My dear maid—”
“I’m sure I’m mighty obliged to you, Mr Fenton!” said Jenny, really angry now. “It’s right handsome of you to liken me to a withered flower. Mr Featherstone’s a gentleman in a many of his ways, and that’s more nor you are, and I wish you good evening.”
“Jenny, my dear, don’t ’ee, now—”
But Jenny was gone.
Tom turned sorrowfully away. Before he had taken two steps, he was arrested by a kindly voice.
“You made a mistake, there, Tom,” it said. “But don’t you lose heart; it isn’t too bad to be got over.”
Tom stopped at once, and went back to the hedge, whence that kindly voice had spoken.
“Is that you, Kate?” he said.
“Ay,” answered the voice of Jenny’s sister. Kate was not a very wise girl, but she was less flighty and foolish than Jenny; and she had a kind heart, which made her always wish to help anyone in trouble. “Tom, don’t be in a taking; but you’ve made a mistake, as I said. You know not how to handle such a maid as Jenny.”
“What should I have said, Kate? I’m fair beat out of heart, and you’ll make me out of charity with myself if you tell me ’tis my own fault.”