第52节

she was in a high wind her light body was blown against trees and banks like a heron’s. When she was frightened she darted noiselessly like a kingfisher. When she was serene she skimmed like a swallow, and that is how she was moving now.

“You are looking very blithe, upon my word, Tamsie,” said Mrs. Yeobright, with a sad smile. “How is Damon?”

“He is very well.”

“Is he kind to you, Thomasin?” And Mrs. Yeobright observed her narrowly.

“Pretty fairly.”

“Is that honestly said?”

“Yes, Aunt. I would tell you if he were unkind.” She added, blushing, and with hesitation, “He—I don’t know if I ought to complain to you about this, but I am not quite sure what to do. I want some money, you know, Aunt—some to buy little things for myself—and he doesn’t give me any. I don’t like to ask him; and yet, perhaps, he doesn’t give it me because he doesn’t know. Ought I to mention it to him, Aunt?”

“Of course you ought. Have you never said a word on the matter?”

“You see, I had some of my own,” said Thomasin evasively, “and I have not wanted any of his until lately. I did just say something about it last week; but he seems—not to remember.”

“He must be made to remember. You are aware that I have a little box full of spade-guineas, which your uncle put into my hands to divide between yourself and Clym whenever I chose. Perhaps the time has come when it should be done. They can be turned into sovereigns at any moment.”

“I think I should like to have my share—that is, if you don’t mind.”

“You shall, if necessary. But it is only proper that you should first tell your husband distinctly that you are without any, and see what he will do.”

“Very well, I will....Aunt, I have heard about Clym. I know you are in trouble about him, and that’s why I have come.”

Mrs. Yeobright turned away, and her features worked in her attempt to conceal her feelings. Then she ceased to make any attempt, and said, weeping, “O Thomasin, do you think he hates me? How can he bear to grieve me so, when I have lived only for him through all these years?”

“Hate you—no,” said Thomasin soothingly. “It is only that he loves her too well. Look at it quietly—do. It is not so very bad of him. Do you know, I thought it not the worst match he could have made. Miss Vye’s family is a good one on her mother’s side; and her father was a romantic wanderer—a sort of Greek Ulysses.”

“It is no use, Thomasin; it is no use. Your intention is good; but I will not trouble you to argue. I have gone through the whole that can be said on either side times, and many times. Clym and I have not parted in anger; we have parted in a worse way. It is not a passionate quarrel that would have broken my heart; it is the steady opposition and persistence in going wrong that he has shown. O Thomasin, he was so good as a little boy—so tender and kind!”

“He was, I know.”

“I did not think one whom I called mine would grow up to treat me like this. He spoke to me as if I opposed him to injure him. As though I could wish him ill!”

“There are worse women in the world than Eustacia Vye.”

“There are too many better that’s the agony of it. It was she, Thomasin, and she only, who led your husband to act as he did—I would swear it!”

“No,” said Thomasin eagerly. “It was before he knew me that he thought of her, and it was nothing but a mere flirtation.”

“Very well; we will let it be so. There is little use in unravelling that now. Sons must be blind if they will. Why is it that a woman can see from a distance what a man cannot see close? Clym must do as he will—he is nothing more to me. And this is maternity—to give one’s best years and best love to ensure the fate of being despised!”

“You are too unyielding. Think how many mothers there are whose sons have brought them to public shame by real crimes before you feel so deeply a case like this.”

“Thomasin, don’t lecture me—I can’t have it. It is the excess above what we expect that makes the force of the blow, and that may not be greater in their case than in mine—they may have foreseen the worst....I am wrongly made, Thomasin,”