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‘She is colouring up,’ continued Tess heroically.

‘Who?’

‘Retty Priddle.’

‘Oh! Why is that?’

‘Because you are looking at her.’

Self-sacrificing as her mood might be Tess could not well go further and cry, ‘Marry one of them, if you really do want a dairywoman and not a lady; and don’t think of marrying me!’ She followed Dairyman Crick, and had the mournful satisfaction of seeing that Clare remained behind.

From this day she forced herself to take pains to avoid him—never allowing herself, as formerly, to remain long in his company, even if their juxtaposition were purely accidental. She gave the other three every chance.

Tess was woman enough to realize from their avowals to herself that Angel Clare had the honour of all the dairymaids in his keeping, and her perception of his care to avoid compromising the happiness of either in the least degree bred a tender respect in Tess for what she deemed the self-controlling sense of duty shown