Tom was still standing before the table in the centre of the group. There was a heightened color in his face,and he was very far from looking humbled, but he was preparing to say, in a respectful tone, something he had previously meditated, when the door opened and his mother re-entered.
poor Mrs. Tulliver had in her hands a small tray, on which she had placed her silver teapot, a specimen teacup and saucer, the castors, and sugar-tongs.
"See here, sister," she said, looking at Mrs. Deane,as she set the tray on the table, "I thought, perhaps, if you looked at the teapot again,–it's a good while since you saw it,–you might like the pattern better; it makes beautiful tea, and there's a stand and everything; you might use it for every day, or else lay it by for Lucy when she goes to housekeeping. I should be so loath for 'em to buy it at the Golden Lion," said the poor woman, her heart swelling, and the tears coming,–"my teapot as I bought when I was married, and to think of its being scratched, and set before the travellers and folks, and my letters on it,–see here, E. D.,–and everybody to see 'em."