‘Well, my big Beauty, what can I do for you?’ said he, coming forward. And perceiving that she stood quite confounded: ‘Never mind me. I am Mr. D’Urberville. Have you come to see me or my mother?’
This embodiment of a D’Urberville and a namesake differed even more from what Tess had expected than the house and grounds had differed. She had dreamed of an aged and dignified face, the sublimation of all distinctively D’Urberville lineaments, furrowed with incarnated memories representing in hieroglyphic the centuries of her family and England’s history. But she screwed herself up to the work in hand, since she could not get out of it, and answered—
‘I came to see your mother, sir.’
‘I am afraid you cannot see her—she is an invalid,’ replied the present representative of the spurious house; for this was Mr. Alec, the only son of the lately deceased gentleman. ‘Cannot I answer your purpose? What is the business you wish to see her about?’
‘It isn’t business—it is—I can hardly say what!’
‘Pleasure?’
71
