One of his comrades hastening out at that moment, the name was repeated to him.
“I know no name of Durbeyfield; but there is the name of d’Urberville at The Herons,” said the second.
“That’s it!” cried Clare, pleased to think that she had reverted to the real pronunciation. “What place is The Herons?”
“A stylish lodging-house. ’Tis all lodging-houses here, bless ’ee.”
Clare received directions how to find the house, and hastened thither, arriving with the milkman. The Herons, though an ordinary villa, stood in its own grounds, and was certainly the last place in which one would have expected to find lodgings, so private was its appearance. If poor Tess was a servant here, as he feared, she would go to the back-door to that milkman, and he was inclined to go thither also. However, in his doubts he turned to the front, and rang.
The hour being early, the landlady herself opened the door. Clare inquired for Teresa d’Urberville or Durbeyfield.
“Mrs d’Urberville?”
“Yes.”
Tess, then, passed as a married woman, and he felt glad, even though she had not adopted his name.
“Will you kindly tell her that a relative is anxious to see her?”