wore the print gown and the tilt-bonnet of summer time. Tess
instinctively thought it might be Marian, and when she came near
enough to be distinguishable in the gloom, surely enough it was
she. Marian was even stouter and redder in the face than formerly,
and decidedly shabbier in attire. At any previous period of her
existence Tess would hardly have cared to renew the acquaintance in
such conditions; but her loneliness was excessive, and she responded
readily to Marian's greeting.
Marian was quite respectful in her inquiries, but seemed much moved
by the fact that Tess should still continue in no better condition
than at first; though she had dimly heard of the separation.
'Tess--Mrs Clare--the dear wife of dear he! And is it really so bad
as this, my child? Why is your cwomely face tied up in such a way?
Anybody been beating 'ee? Not HE?'
'No, no, no! I merely did it not to be clipsed or colled, Marian.'
She pulled off in disgust a bandage which could suggest such wild
thoughts.
'And you've got no collar on' (Tess had been accustomed to wear a
little white collar at the dairy).
'I know it, Marian.'
'You've lost it travelling.'
'I've not lost it. The truth is, I don't care anything about my
looks; and so I didn't put it on.'
'And you don't wear your wedding-ring?'
'Yes, I do; but not in public. I wear it round my neck on a ribbon.
I don't wish people to think who I am by marriage, or that I am
married at all; it would be so awkward while I lead my present life.'
Marian paused.
'But you BE a gentleman's wife; and it seems hardly fair that you
should live like this!'
'O yes it is, quite fair; though I am very unhappy.'
'Well, well. HE married you--and you can be unhappy!'
'Wives are unhappy sometimes; from no fault of their husbands--from
their own.'
'You've no faults, deary; that I'm sure of. And he's none. So it
must be something outside ye both.'
'Marian, dear Marian, will you do me a good turn without asking
questions? My husband has gone abroad, and somehow I have overrun my
allowance, so that I have to fall back upon my old work for a time.
Do not call me Mrs Clare, but Tess, as before. Do they want a hand
here?'
'O yes; they'll take one always, because few care to come. 'Tis a
starve-acre place. Corn and swedes are all they grow. Though I be
here myself, I feel 'tis a pity for such as you to come.'
'But you used to be as good a dairywoman as I.'
'Yes; but I've got out o' that since I took to drink. Lord, that's
the only comfort I've got now! If you engage, you'll be set
swede-hacking. That's what I be doing; but you won't like it.'
'O--anything! Will you speak for me?'
