likely, and make a lady of her; and then she’ll be what her forefathers was.’
John Durbeyfield had more conceit than energy or health, and this supposition was pleasant to him.
‘Well, perhaps, that’s what young Mr. D’Urberville means,’ he admitted; ‘and he really may have serious thoughts about improving his blood by linking on to the old line. Tess, the little rogue! And has she really paid ’em a visit to such an end as this?’
Meanwhile Tess was walking thoughtfully among the gooseberry-bushes in the garden, and over Prince’s grave. When she came in her mother pursued her advantage.
‘Well, what be you going to do?’ she asked.
‘I wish I had seen Mrs. D’Urberville’, said Tess.
‘I think you mid as well settle it. Then you’ll see her soon enough.’
Her father coughed in his chair.
‘I don’t know what to say!’ answered the girl restlessly. ‘It is for you to decide. I killed the old horse, and I suppose I ought to do something to get ye a new one. But—but—I don’t quite like Mr. D’Urberville!’
85
