“I suppose when you first saw me and heard about me I was wrapped in a sort of golden halo to your eyes—a man who knew glorious things, and had mixed in brilliant scenes—in short, an adorable, delightful, distracting hero?”
“Yes,” she said, sobbing.
“And now I am a poor fellow in brown leather.”
“Don’t taunt me. But enough of this. I will not be depressed any more. I am going from home this afternoon, unless you greatly object. There is to be a village picnic—a gipsying, they call it—at East Egdon, and I shall go.”
“To dance?”
“Why not? You can sing.”
“Well, well, as you will. Must I come to fetch you?”
“If you return soon enough from your work. But do not inconvenience yourself about it. I know the way home, and the heath has no terror for me.”
“And can you cling to gaiety so eage
