Behind one of
the trees stood Farfrae, briskly discussing a sample-bag with a farmer.
Henchard had come up, accidentally encountering the young man, whose
face seemed to inquire, "Do we speak to each other?"
She saw her stepfather throw a shine into his eye which answered "No!"
Elizabeth-Jane sighed.
"Are you particularly interested in anybody out there?" said Lucetta.
"O, no," said her companion, a quick red shooting over her face.
Luckily Farfrae's figure was immediately covered by the apple-tree.
Lucetta looked hard at her. "Quite sure?" she said.
"O yes," said Elizabeth-Jane.
Again Lucetta looked out. "They are all farmers, I suppose?" she said.
"No. There's Mr. Bulge--he's a wine merchant; there's Benjamin
Brownlet--a horse dealer; and Kitson, the pig breeder; and Yopper, the
auctioneer; besides maltsters, and millers--and so on." Farfrae stood
out quite distinctly now; but she did not mention him.
The Saturday afternoon slipped on thus desultorily. The market changed
from the sample-showing hour to the idle hour before starting homewards,
when tales were told. Henchard had not called on Lucetta though he had
stood so near. He must have been too busy, she thought. He would come on
Sunday or Monday.
The days came but not the visitor, though Lucetta repeated her dressing
with scrupulous care.
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