"And so you really like me?" said he.
"I really love you; not so much as mother, but veway, veway much."
"As much as Danby--as Uncle Tom?"
"Better than Uncle Tom! but please don't tell him so. It might make him unhappy."
"I dare say it would. Uncle Tom has a jealous disposition. He might shut you up in a brazen tower."
Another faux pas. Moppet would be dreaming of brazen towers. Imagination, assisted by plum-pudding, would run readily into tormenting visions.
Happily, Moppet made no remark upon the tower. She was thinking--thinking deeply; and presently she looked up at Sir John with grave gray eyes and said:--
"I believe I love you better than Uncle Tom, because you are a grander gentleman," she said musingly, "and because you have this beautiful big house. It is yours, isn't it--your veway, veway own?"
"My very, very own. And so you like my house, Moppet? And will you be sorry to go away?"
"Oh no, because I shall be going to mother."