me!'
She thereupon turned round and lifted her face to his, and remained
like a marble term while he imprinted a kiss upon her cheek--half
perfunctorily, half as if zest had not yet quite died out. Her eyes
vaguely rested upon the remotest trees in the lane while the kiss was
given, as though she were nearly unconscious of what he did.
'Now the other side, for old acquaintance' sake.'
She turned her head in the same passive way, as one might turn at the
request of a sketcher or hairdresser, and he kissed the other side,
his lips touching cheeks that were damp and smoothly chill as the
skin of the mushrooms in the fields around.
'You don't give me your mouth and kiss me back. You never willingly
do that--you'll never love me, I fear.'
'I have said so, often. It is true. I have never really and truly
loved you, and I think I never can.' She added mournfully, 'Perhaps,
of all things, a lie on this thing would do the most good to me now;
but I have honour enough left, little as 'tis, not to tell that lie.
If I did love you, I may have the best o' causes for letting you know
it. But I don't.'
He emitted a laboured breath, as if the scene were getting rather
oppressive to his heart, or to his conscience, or to his gentility.
'Well, you are absurdly melancholy, Tess. I have no
reason for flattering you now, and I can say plainly
that you need not be so sad. You can hold your own for
beauty against any woman of these parts, gentle or
simple; I say it to you as a practical man and
well-wisher. If you are wise you will show it to the
world more than you do before it fades... And yet,
Tess, will you come back to me! Upon my soul, I don't
like to let you go like this!'
'Never, never! I made up my mind as soon as I saw--what I ought to
have seen sooner; and I won't come.'
'Then good morning, my four months' cousin--good-bye!'
He leapt up lightly, arranged the reins, and was gone between the
tall red-berried hedges.
Tess did not look after him, but slowly wound along the crooked lane.
It was still early, and though the sun's lower limb was just free of
the hill, his rays, ungenial and peering, addressed the eye rather
than the touch as yet. There was not a human soul near. Sad October
and her sadder self seemed the only two existences haunting that
lane.
As she walked, however, some footsteps approached behind her, the
footsteps of a man; and owing to the briskness of his advance he was
close at her heels and had said 'Good morning' before she had been
long aware of his propinquity. He appeared to be an artisan of some
sort, and carried a tin pot of red paint in his hand. He asked
in a business-like manner if he should take her basket, which she
permitted him to do, walking beside him.
'It is early to be astir this Sabbath morn!' he said cheerfully.
