He replied that it had been thought best by them that she should to go her parents’ home for the present, whilst he came there.
“I don’t mind telling you, dear mother,” he said, “that I always meant to keep her away from this house till I should feel she could come with credit to you. But this idea of Brazil is quite a recent one. If I do go it will be unadvisable for me to take her on this my first journey. She will remain at her mother’s till I come back.”
“And I shall not see her before you start?”
He was afraid they would not. His original plan had been, as he had said, to refrain from bringing her there for some little while—not to wound their prejudices—feelings—in any way; and for other reasons he had adhered to it. He would have to visit home in the course of a year, if he went out at once; and it would be possible for them to see her before he started a second time—with her.
A hastily prepared supper was brought in, and Clare made further exposition of his plans. His mother’s disappointment at not seeing the bride still remained with her. Clare’s late enthusiasm for Tess had infected her through her maternal sympathies, till she had almost fancied that a good thing could come out of Nazareth—a charming woman out of Talbothays Dairy. She watched her son as he ate.
“Cannot you describe her? I am sure she is very pretty, Angel.”
“Of that there can be no question!” he said, with a zest which covered its bitterness.
“And that she is pure and virtuous goes without question?”
“Pure and virtuous, of course, she is.”
“I can see her quite distinctly. You said the other day that she was fine in figure; roundly built; had deep red lips like Cupid’s bow; dark eyelashes