"
Tom's voice got lower and lower as he spoke, and his face was full
of an emotion of which he need not be ashamed, for a very sincere
love ennobled him, making him humble, where a shallower
affection would have been proud of its success. Polly understood
this, and found the honest, hearty speech of her lover more
eloquent than poetry itself. Her hand stole up to his cheek, and she
leaned her own confidingly against the rough coat, as she said, in
her frank simple way, "Tom, dear, don't say that, as if I was the
best girl in the world. I 've got ever so many faults, and I want you
to know them all, and help me cure them, as you have your own.
Waiting has not done us any harm, and I love you all the better for
your trial. But I 'm afraid your year has been harder than mine, you
look so much older and graver than when you went away. You
never would complain; but I 've had a feeling that you were going
through a good deal more than any of us guessed."
"Pretty tough work at first, I own.
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