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III. The First Act in a Timeworn Drama

           Havingbeenseatedatworkallday,hedecidedtotakeaturnuponthehillsbeforeitgotdark;and,goingoutforthwith,hestruckacrosstheheathtowardsMistover.

           Itwasanhourandahalflaterwhenheagainappearedatthegardengate.Theshuttersofthehousewereclosed,andChristianCantle,whohadbeenwheelingmanureaboutthegardenallday,hadgonehome.Onenteringhefoundthathismother,afterwaitingalongtimeforhim,hadfinishedhermeal.

           “Wherehaveyoubeen,Clym?”sheimmediatelysaid.“Whydidn’tyoutellmethatyouweregoingawayatthistime?”

           “Ihavebeenontheheath.”

           “You’llmeetEustaciaVyeifyougoupthere.”

           Clympausedaminute.“Yes,Imetherthisevening,”hesaid,asthoughitwerespokenunderthesheernecessityofpreservinghonesty.

           “Iwonderedifyouhad.”

           “Itwasnoappointment.”

           “No;suchmeetingsneverare.”

           “Butyouarenotangry,Mother?”

           “IcanhardlysaythatIamnot.Angry?No.ButwhenIconsidertheusualnatureofthedragwhichcausesmenofpromisetodisappointtheworldIfeeluneasy.”

           “Youdeservecreditforthefeeling,Mother.ButIcanassureyouthatyouneednotbedisturbedbyitonmyaccount.”

           “WhenIthinkofyouandyournewcrotchets,”saidMrs.Yeobright,withsomeemphasis,“Inaturallydon’tfeelsocomfortableasIdidatwelvemonthago.ItisincredibletomethatamanaccustomedtotheattractivewomenofParisandelsewhereshouldbesoeasilyworkeduponbyagirlinaheath.Youcouldjustaswellhavewalkedanotherway.”

           “Ihadbeenstudyingallday.

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