Tess’s breath quickened.
“Yes, dearest. Never mind.”
“I—I—am not a Durbeyfield, but a d’Urberville—a descendant of the same family as those that owned the old house we passed. And—we are all gone to nothing!”
“A d’Urberville!—Indeed! And is that all the trouble, dear Tess?”
“Yes,” she answered faintly.
“Well—why should I love you less after knowing this?”
“I was told by the dairyman that you hated old families.”
He laughed.
“Well, it is true, in one sense. I do hate the aristocratic principle of blood before everything, and do think that as reasoners the only pedigrees we ought to respect are those spiritual ones of the wise and virtuous, without regard to corporal paternity. But I am extremely interested in this news—you can have no idea how interested I am! Are you not interested yourself in being one of that well-known line?”
“No. I have thought it sad—especially since coming here, and knowing that many of the hills and fields I see once belonged to my father’s people. But other hills and fields belonged to Retty’s people, and perhaps others to Marian’s, so that I don’t value it particularly.”