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

I can say. But I am not so shut out from all your feelings as you believe me to be. I see as well as you do that from our position with regard to Philip’s father⁠—not on other grounds⁠—it would be unreasonable, it would be wrong, for us to entertain the idea of marriage; and I have given up thinking of him as a lover. I am telling you the truth, and you have no right to disbelieve me; I have kept my word to you, and you have never detected me in a falsehood. I should not only not encourage, I should carefully avoid, any intercourse with Philip on any other footing than of quiet friendship. You may think that I am unable to keep my resolutions; but at least you ought not to treat me with hard contempt on the ground of faults that I have not committed yet.”

“Well, Maggie,” said Tom, softening under this appeal, “I don’t want to overstrain matters. I think, all things considered, it will be best for you to see Philip Wakem, if Lucy wishes him to come to the house. I believe what you say⁠—at least you believe it yourself, I know; I can only warn you. I wish to be as good a brother to you as you will let me.”

There was a little tremor in Tom’s voice as he uttered the last words, and Maggie’s ready affection came back with as sudden a glow as when they were children, and bit their cake together as a sacrament of conciliation. She rose and laid her hand on Tom’s shoulder.

“Dear Tom, I know you mean to be good. I know you have had a great deal to bear, and have done a great deal. I should like to be a comfort to you, not to vex you. You don’t think I’m altogether naughty, now, do you?”

Tom smiled at the eager face; his smiles were very pleasant to see when they did come, for the gray eyes could be tender underneath the frown.

“No, Maggie.”

“I may turn out better than you expect.”

“I hope you will.”

“And may I come some day and make tea for you, and see this extremely small wife of Bob’s again?”

“Yes; but trot away now, for I’ve no more time to spare,” said Tom, looking at his watch.

“Not to give me a kiss?”

Tom bent to kiss her cheek, and then said⁠—

“There! Be a good girl. I’ve got a great deal to think of today. I’m going to have a long consultation with my uncle Deane this afternoon.”

“You’ll come to aunt Glegg’s tomorrow? We’re going all to dine early, that we may go there to tea. You must come; Lucy told me to say so.”

“Oh, pooh! I’ve plenty else to do,” said Tom, pulling his bell violently, and bringing down the small bell-rope.

“I’m frightened; I shall run away,” said Maggie, making a laughing retreat; while Tom, with masculine philosophy, flung the bell-rope to the farther end of the room; not very far either⁠—a touch of human experience which I flatter myself will come home to the bosoms of not a few substantial or distinguished men who were once at an early stage of their rise in the world, and were cherishing very large hopes in very small lodgings.

V Showing That Tom Had Opened the Oyster

“And now we’ve settled this Newcastle business, Tom,” said Mr. Deane, that same afternoon, as they were seated in the private room at the Bank together, “there’s another matter I want to talk to you about. Since you’re likely to have rather a smoky, unpleasant time of it at Newcastle for the next few weeks, you’ll want a good prospect of some sort to keep up your spirits.”

Tom waited less nervously than he had done on a former occasion in this apartment, while his uncle took out his snuffbox and gratified each nostril with deliberate impartiality.

“You see, Tom,” said Mr. Deane at last, throwing himself backward, “the world goes on at a smarter pace now than it did when I was a young fellow. Why, sir, forty years ago, when I was much such a strapping youngster as you, a man expected to pull between the shafts the best part of his life, before he got the whip in his hand. The looms went slowish, and fashions didn’t alter quite so fast; I’d a best suit that lasted me six years. Everything was on a lower scale, sir⁠—in point of expenditure, I mean. It’s this steam, you see, that has made the difference; it drives on every wheel double pace, and the wheel of fortune along with ’em, as our Mr. Stephen Guest said at the anniversary dinner (he hits these things off wonderfully, considering he’s seen nothing of business). I don’t find fault with the change, as some people do. Trade, sir, opens a man’s eyes; and if the population is to get thicker upon the ground, as it’s doing, the world must use its wits at inventions of one sort or other. I know I’ve done my share as an ordinary man of business. Somebody has said it’s a fine thing to make two ears of corn grow where only one grew before; but, sir, it’s a fine thing, too, to further the exchange of commodities, and bring the grains of corn to the mouths that are hungry. And that’s our line of business; and I consider it as honourable a position as a man can hold, to be connected with it.”

Tom knew that the affair his uncle had to speak of was not urgent; Mr. Deane was too shrewd and practical a man to allow either his reminiscences or his snuff to impede the progress of trade. Indeed, for the last month or two, there had been hints thrown out to Tom which enabled him to guess that he was going to hear some proposition for his own benefit. With the beginning of the last speech he had stretched out his legs, thrust his hands