The Mill on the Floss by George Eliot (best beach reads of all time .txt) 📕

in this new room; the first thing her eyes dwelt on was the large old Bible, and the sight was not likely to disperse the old memories. She stood without speaking.

“If you please to take the privilege o’ sitting down, Miss,” said Mrs. Jakin, rubbing her apron over a perfectly clean chair, and then lifting up the corner of that garment and holding it to her face with an air of embarrassment, as she looked wonderingly at Maggie.

“Bob is at home, then?” said Maggie, recovering herself, and smiling at the bashful Dutch doll.

“Yes, Miss; but I think he must be washing and dressing himself; I’ll go and see,” said Mrs. Jakin, disappearing.

But she presently came back walking with new courage a little way behind her husband, who showed the brilliancy of his blue eyes and regular white teeth in the doorway, bowing respectfully.

“How do you do, Bob?” said Maggie, coming forward and putting out her hand to him; “I always meant to pay your wife a visit, and I shall come another day on purpose for that, if she will let me. But I was obliged to come today to speak to my brother.”

“He’ll be in before long, Miss. He’s doin’ finely, Mr. Tom is; he’ll be one o’ the first men hereabouts⁠—you’ll see that.”

“Well, Bob, I’m sure he’ll be indebted to you, whatever he becomes; he said so himself only the other night, when he was talking of you.”

“Eh, Miss, that’s his way o’ takin’ it. But I think the more on’t when he says a thing, because his tongue doesn’t overshoot him as mine does. Lors! I’m no better nor a tilted bottle, I ar’n’t⁠—I can’t stop mysen when once I begin. But you look rarely, Miss; it does me good to see you. What do you say now, Prissy?”⁠—here Bob turned to his wife⁠—“Isn’t it all come true as I said? Though there isn’t many sorts o’ goods as I can’t overpraise when I set my tongue to’t.”

Mrs. Bob’s small nose seemed to be following the example of her eyes in turning up reverentially toward Maggie, but she was able now to smile and curtsey, and say, “I’d looked forrard like aenything to seein’ you, Miss, for my husband’s tongue’s been runnin’ on you, like as if he was lightheaded, iver since first he come a-courtin’ on me.”

“Well, well,” said Bob, looking rather silly. “Go an’ see after the taters, else Mr. Tom ’ull have to wait for ’em.”

“I hope Mumps is friendly with Mrs. Jakin, Bob,” said Maggie, smiling. “I remember you used to say he wouldn’t like your marrying.”

“Eh, Miss,” said Bob, “he made up his mind to’t when he see’d what a little un she was. He pretends not to see her mostly, or else to think as she isn’t full-growed. But about Mr. Tom, Miss,” said Bob, speaking lower and looking serious, “he’s as close as a iron biler, he is; but I’m a ’cutish chap, an’ when I’ve left off carrying my pack, an’ am at a loose end, I’ve got more brains nor I know what to do wi’, an’ I’m forced to busy myself wi’ other folks’s insides. An’ it worrets me as Mr. Tom’ll sit by himself so glumpish, a-knittin’ his brow, an’ a-lookin’ at the fire of a night. He should be a bit livelier now, a fine young fellow like him. My wife says, when she goes in sometimes, an’ he takes no notice of her, he sits lookin’ into the fire, and frownin’ as if he was watchin’ folks at work in it.”

“He thinks so much about business,” said Maggie.

“Ay,” said Bob, speaking lower; “but do you think it’s nothin’ else, Miss? He’s close, Mr. Tom is; but I’m a ’cute chap, I am, an’ I thought tow’rt last Christmas as I’d found out a soft place in him. It was about a little black spaniel⁠—a rare bit o’ breed⁠—as he made a fuss to get. But since then summat’s come over him, as he’s set his teeth again’ things more nor iver, for all he’s had such good luck. An’ I wanted to tell you, Miss, ’cause I thought you might work it out of him a bit, now you’re come. He’s a deal too lonely, and doesn’t go into company enough.”

“I’m afraid I have very little power over him, Bob,” said Maggie, a good deal moved by Bob’s suggestion. It was a totally new idea to her mind that Tom could have his love troubles. Poor fellow!⁠—and in love with Lucy too! But it was perhaps a mere fancy of Bob’s too officious brain. The present of the dog meant nothing more than cousinship and gratitude. But Bob had already said, “Here’s Mr. Tom,” and the outer door was opening.

“There is no time to spare, Tom,” said Maggie, as soon as Bob left the room. “I must tell you at once what I came about, else I shall be hindering you from taking your dinner.”

Tom stood with his back against the chimneypiece, and Maggie was seated opposite the light. He noticed that she was tremulous, and he had a presentiment of the subject she was going to speak about. The presentiment made his voice colder and harder as he said, “What is it?”

This tone roused a spirit of resistance in Maggie, and she put her request in quite a different form from the one she had predetermined on. She rose from her seat, and looking straight at Tom, said⁠—

“I want you to absolve me from my promise about Philip Wakem. Or rather, I promised you not to see him without telling you. I am come to tell you that I wish to see him.”

“Very well,” said Tom, still more coldly.

But Maggie had hardly finished speaking in that chill, defiant manner, before she repented, and felt the dread of alienation from her brother.

“Not for myself, dear Tom. Don’t be angry. I shouldn’t have asked it, only that Philip, you know, is a friend of Lucy’s and she wishes him to come, has invited him to