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Maryann
suspended
the
brush
.
The
tramp
of
a
horse
was
apparent
,
approaching
the
front
of
the
building
.
The
paces
slackened
,
turned
in
at
the
wicket
,
and
,
what
was
most
unusual
,
came
up
the
mossy
path
close
to
the
door
.
The
door
was
tapped
with
the
end
of
a
crop
or
stick
.
"
What
impertinence
!
"
said
Liddy
,
in
a
low
voice
.
"
To
ride
up
the
footpath
like
that
!
Why
didn
’
t
he
stop
at
the
gate
?
Lord
!
’
Tis
a
gentleman
!
I
see
the
top
of
his
hat
.
"
"
Be
quiet
!
"
said
Bathsheba
.
The
further
expression
of
Liddy
’
s
concern
was
continued
by
aspect
instead
of
narrative
.
"
Why
doesn
’
t
Mrs
.
Coggan
go
to
the
door
?
"
Bathsheba
continued
.
Rat
-
tat
-
tat
-
tat
resounded
more
decisively
from
Bathsheba
’
s
oak
.
"
Maryann
,
you
go
!
"
said
she
,
fluttering
under
the
onset
of
a
crowd
of
romantic
possibilities
.
"
Oh
ma
’
am
—
see
,
here
’
s
a
mess
!
"
The
argument
was
unanswerable
after
a
glance
at
Maryann
.
