“I’ve not lost it. The truth is, I don’t care anything about my looks; and so I didn’t put it on.”
“And you don’t wear your wedding-ring?”
“Yes, I do; but not in public. I wear it round my neck on a ribbon. I don’t wish people to think who I am by marriage, or that I am married at all; it would be so awkward while I lead my present life.”
Marian paused.
“But you be a gentleman’s wife; and it seems hardly fair that you should live like this!”
“O yes it is, quite fair; though I am very unhappy.”
“Well, well. He married you—and you can be unhappy!”
“Wives are unhappy sometimes; from no fault of their husbands—from their own.”
“You’ve no faults, deary; that I’m sure of. And he’s none. So it must be something outside ye both.”
“Marian, dear Marian, will you do me a good turn without asking questions? My husband has gone abroad, and somehow I have overrun my allowance, so that I have to fall back upon my old work for a time. Do not call me Mrs. Clare, but Tess, as before. Do they want a hand here?”
“O yes; they’ll take one always, because few care to come. ’Tis a starve-acre place. Corn and swedes are all they grow. Though I be here myself, I feel ’tis a pity for such as you to come.”
“But you used to be as good a dairywoman as I.”
“Yes; but I’ve got out o’ that since I took to drink. Lord, that’s the only comfort I’ve got now! If you engage, you’ll be set swede-hacking. That’s