The meeting, in truth, was of a very innocent kind, and matters were by no means so far advanced between the young people as Henchard’s jealous grief inferred. Could he have heard such conversation as passed he would have been enlightened thus much:—
He.—“You like walking this way, Miss Henchard—and is it not so?” (uttered in his undulatory accents, and with an appraising, pondering gaze at her).
She.—“O yes. I have chosen this road latterly. I have no great reason for it.”
He.—“But that may make a reason for others.”
She (reddening).—“I don’t know that. My reason, however, such as it is, is that I wish to get a glimpse of the sea every day.”
He.—“Is it a secret why?”
She ( reluctantly ).—“Yes.”
He (with the pathos of one of his native ballads).—“Ah, I doubt there will be any good in secrets! A secret cast a deep shadow over my life. And well you know what it was.”
Elizabeth admitted that she did, but she refrained from confessing why the sea attracted her. She could not herself account for it fully, not knowing the secret possibly to be that, in addition to early marine associations, her blood was a sailor’s.
“Thank you for those new books, Mr. Farfrae,” she added shyly. “I wonder if I ought to accept so many!”