`No - no!' she said quickly, putting her fingers between his hand and her lips. `I would rather take it in my own hand.' `Nonsense!' he insisted; and in a slight distress she parted her lips and took it in.

They had spent some time wandering desultorily thus, Tess eating in a half pleased, half reluctant state whatever d'Urberville offered her. When she could consume no more of the strawberries he filled her little basket with them; and then the two passed round to the rose trees, whence he gathered blossoms and gave her to put in her bosom. She obeyed like one in a dream, and when she could affix no more he himself tucked a bud or two into her hat, and heaped her basket with others in the prodigality of his bounty. At last, looking at his watch, he said, `Now, by the time you have had something to eat, it will be time for you to leave, if you want to catch the carrier to Shaston. Come here, and I'll see what grub I can find.'

Stoke-d'Urberville took her back to the lawn and into the tent, where he left her, soon reappearing with a basket of light luncheon, which he put before her himself. It was evidently the gentleman's wish not to be disturbed in this pleasant tête-à-te by the servantry.

`Do you mind my smoking?' he asked.

`Oh, not at all, sir.'

He watched her pretty and unconscious munching through the skeins of smoke that pervaded the tent, and Tess Durbeyfield did not divine, as she innocently looked down at the roses in her bosom, that there behind the blue narcotic haze was potentially the `tragic mischief' of her drama one who stood fair to be the blood-red-ray in the spectrum of her young life. She had an attribute which amounted to a disadvantage just now; and it was attribute which amounted to a disadvantage just now; and it was this that caused Alec d'Urberville's eyes to rivet themselves upon her. It was a luxuriance of aspect, a fullness of growth, which made her appear more of a woman that she really was. She had inherited the feature from her mother without the quality it denoted. It had troubled her mind occasionally, till her companions had said that it was a fault which time would cure.

She soon had finished her lunch. `Now I am going home, sir,' she said, rising.

`And what do they call you?' he asked, as he accompanied her along the drive till they were out of sight of the house.

`Tess Durbeyfield, down at Marlott.'

`And you say your people have lost their horse?'

`I - killed him!' she answered, her eyes filling with tears as she gave particulars of Prince's death. `And I don't know what to do for father on account of it!'

`I must think if I cannot do something. My mother must find a berth for you. But, Tess, no nonsense about "d'Urberville";--

"Durbeyfield" only, you know - quite another name.'

`I wish for no better, sir,' said she with something of dignity.

For a moment - only for a moment - when they were in the turning of the drive, between the tall rhododendrons and conifers, before the lodge became visible, he inclined his face towards her as if - but, no: he thought better of it, and let her go.

Thus the thing began. Had she perceived this meeting's import she might have asked why she was doomed to be seen and coveted that day by the wrong man, and not by some other man, the right and