"Don't you think we'd better have some lunch, Lizzie," he said, after a pause, filled up by the other two very agreeably by the aid of that very intelligible "conversation without words"--which by the aid of looks is carried on between lovers, whether _de facto_ or _de jure_. Whereupon Lizzie bustled out of the room, shaking a little bunch of keys in the most housewifely manner, and looking dangerously pretty; presently returning with the "Gezaba" in her train, and carrying a little damask covered luncheon tray. The three had a very sociable and pleasant little meal, although neither Tom nor Lizzie eat much; however, they both drank deeply-intoxicating draughts from each other's eyes. Presently, Tom rose to go, after paying a call of some hours' duration, during which Pringle had never given him an opportunity of being alone with Lizzie. "What cubs brothers are!" thought Tom in his inmost heart, but he thanked Pringle aloud for his kindness in sending up every day to enquire after him. Pringle was candid with all his faults. "Oh, you must thank Lizzie for that," he said; "I've called several times myself to ask about you, but she sent up the servant, I believe, every day!" And then, of course, Master Tom had to thank Miss Lizzie. Why the thanking had to occupy such a long time, and why Lizzie had to blush so much, and why Master Tom had to keep her hand such an unconscionable long time in his, while Pringle went forward to open the door, and show his guest out; and why Tom had to make the little attention into a serious business by saying, "I shall never forget it! never, as long as I live," I can't explain--sufficient to say that Master Tom appeared very much satisfied at leaving her, though he had not had the chance of actually telling his love, while Miss Lizzie did not appear as if she would "punish" him, as she threatened to do, when he called again. The young incumbent walked home with Tom, to give him the benefit of his arm; and he was very uncomfortable about it all, for he could not ask a poor, sick fellow like that who was hobbling by his side, "what were his intentions." He must let matters rest for a season, until something actually turned up. He was distrustful of the whole business, for he did not think the rich and purse-proud old dowager would consent to let her son wed her curate's portionless sister; so Pringle felt worried in his heart, and, after seeing Tom home, had to go and call on Lady Inskip in order to be comforted by the languid Laura. When Tom got to The Poplars, he found that a great deal had happened in his absence. Mr Trump had come down post haste to tell about Susan's recovery, and how Markworth had taken her away and married her, and that she was with him now at Havre. The lawyer was still waiting to see him. Doctor Jolly too was there, and had heard the news, our old friend telling Tom as he hobbled into the hall, "Bless my soul! sir, there's the very devil to pay!" Volume 2, Chapter VI.