“Just about,” said Tom, coolly; “I come to tak’ care o’ Daisy here; and if she’d said ‘Yes,’ by the time yow’d got the key of your private door theer, I should ha’ knocked thee down and had my foot o’ thee handsome face, Mester.”
He strode off, Daisy having hard work to keep up with him, sobbing the while, till they were near her home, when she made an effort to cease crying, wiped her eyes, and broke the silence.
“Did—did you hear what I said, Tom?” she whispered.
“Ivery word, lass, but I only recollect one thing.”
“What was that?”
“That thou did’st not love me a bit.”
Daisy gave a sob.
“You mustn’t mind, Tom,” she said, in a low voice, “for I’m a bad, wretched girl.”
“I should spoil the face of any man who said so to me,” he said, passionately; and then he relapsed into his quiet, moody manner.
“There’s plenty of better girls than me, Tom, will be glad to love you,” she said.