"I suppose I have," faltered Tess, looking uncomfortable again.

"Well--there's no harm in it. Where do you live? What are you?"

She gave him brief particulars; and responding to further inquiries

told him that she was intending to go back by the same carrier who

had brought her. "It is a long while before he returns past Trantridge Cross.

Supposing we walk round the grounds to pass the time, my pretty Coz?"

Tess wished to abridge her visit as much as possible; but the young

man was pressing, and she consented to accompany him. He conducted

her about the lawns, and flower-beds, and conservatories; and thence

to the fruit-garden and greenhouses, where he asked her if she liked

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strawberries. "Yes," said Tess, "when they come."

"They are already here." D'Urberville began gathering specimens

of the fruit for her, handing them back to her as he stooped; and,

presently, selecting a specially fine product of the "British Queen"

variety, he stood up and held it by the stem to her mouth.

"No--no!" she said quickly, putting her fingers between his hand and

her lips. "I would rather take it in my own hand."

"Nonsense!" he insisted; and in a slight distress she parted her lips

and took it in. They had spent some time wandering desultorily thus, Tess eating in

a half-pleased, half-reluctant state whatever d'Urberville offered

her. When she could consume no more of the strawberries he filled

her little basket with them; and then the two passed round to the

rose-trees, whence he gathered blossoms and gave her to put in her

bosom. She obeyed like one in a dream, and when she could affix no

more he himself tucked a bud or two into her hat, and heaped her

basket with others in the prodigality of his bounty. At last,

looking at his watch, he said, "Now, by the time you have had

something to eat, it will be time for you to leave, if you want to

catch the carrier to Shaston. Come here, and I'll see what grub I

can find." Stoke d'Urberville took her back to the lawn and into the tent, where

he left her, soon reappearing with a basket of light luncheon, which

he put before her himself. It was evidently the gentleman's wish not

to be disturbed in this pleasant tête-à-tête by the servantry.

"Do you mind my smoking?" he asked.

"Oh, not at all, sir."

He watched her pretty and unconscious munching through the skeins of

smoke that pervaded the tent, and Tess Durbeyfield did not divine,

as she innocently looked down at the roses in her bosom, that there

behind the blue narcotic haze was potentially the "tragic mischief"

of her drama--one who stood fair to be the blood-red ray in the

spectrum of her young life. She had an attribute which amounted

to a disadvantage just now; and it was this that caused Alec

d'Urberville's eyes to rivet themselves upon her. It was a

luxuriance of aspect, a fulness of growth, which made her appear more

of a woman than she really was. She had inherited the feature from

her mother without the quality it denoted. It had troubled her mind

occasionally, till her companions had said that it was a fault which

time would cure. She soon had finished her lunch. "Now I am going home, sir," she

said, rising. "And what do they call you?" he asked, as he accompanied her along

the drive till they were out of sight of the house. "Tess Durbeyfield, down at Marlott."




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