He looked down into the deep violet eyes which were looking up into his own with—what shall you call it?—wonder or indignation?
“Well, Lizzie!” Tom said.
Lizzie said nothing; but it appeared to be “well.” And then what a long tale had to be told. What a number of explanations and conjectures, and enquiries, and assertions!
Tom wanted her to tell him here, in this very spot, where she had treated him so cruelly, that she was sorry for what she had done. Of course she was, and it “should not occur again,” with such a supplicating little gesture.
Then Lizzie must be informed over and over again in the strongest terms of assertion that the English language was capable of, whether Tom “really” loved her and cared for her so much.
Imagine the protestations that ensued: the multiplicity of lover’s honied words and oaths: then Tom’s enquiries to the same effect, which had also to be confirmed, and so da capo.
It took a good many “wells” before the interview was satisfactorily terminated, and Tom returned exultant to The Poplars to tell his mother of his happiness.