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TESS OF THE D’URBERVILLES

Old Pretty by this time had looked round, puzzled; and seeing two people crouching under her where, by immemorial custom, there should have been only one, lifted her hind leg crossly.

‘She is angry—she doesn’t know what we mean—she’ll kick over the milk!’ exclaimed Tess, gently striving to free herself, her eyes concerned with the quadruped’s actions, her heart more deeply concerned with herself and Clare.

She slipped up from her seat, and they stood together, his arm still encircling her. Tess’s eyes, fixed on distance, began to fill.

‘Why do you cry, my darling?’ he said.

‘O—I don’t know!’ she murmured regretfully.

As she saw and felt more clearly the position she was in she became agitated, looked askance, and tried to withdraw.

‘Well, I have betrayed my feeling, Tess, at last,’ said he, with a curious sigh of desperation, signifying unconsciously that his heart had outrun his judgment. ‘That I love you dearly and truly I need not say. But I—it shall go no farther now—it distresses you—I am as surprised as you are. You will not think I have presumed upon

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