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Of
course
,
I
have
always
supposed
you
were
going
to
push
straight
on
,
as
other
men
do
—
all
who
deserve
the
name
—
when
they
have
been
put
in
a
good
way
of
doing
well
.
”
“
I
cannot
help
it
,
”
said
Clym
,
in
a
troubled
tone
.
“
Mother
,
I
hate
the
flashy
business
.
Talk
about
men
who
deserve
the
name
,
can
any
man
deserving
the
name
waste
his
time
in
that
effeminate
way
,
when
he
sees
half
the
world
going
to
ruin
for
want
of
somebody
to
buckle
to
and
teach
them
how
to
breast
the
misery
they
are
born
to
?
I
get
up
every
morning
and
see
the
whole
creation
groaning
and
travailing
in
pain
,
as
St
.
Paul
says
,
and
yet
there
am
I
,
trafficking
in
glittering
splendours
with
wealthy
women
and
titled
libertines
,
and
pandering
to
the
meanest
vanities
—
I
,
who
have
health
and
strength
enough
for
anything
.
I
have
been
troubled
in
my
mind
about
it
all
the
year
,
and
the
end
is
that
I
cannot
do
it
any
more
.
”
“
Why
can
’
t
you
do
it
as
well
as
others
?
”
“
I
don
’
t
know
,
except
that
there
are
many
things
other
people
care
for
which
I
don
’
t
;
and
that
’
s
partly
why
I
think
I
ought
to
do
this
.
For
one
thing
,
my
body
does
not
require
much
of
me
.
I
cannot
enjoy
delicacies
;
good
things
are
wasted
upon
me
.
Well
,
I
ought
to
turn
that
defect
to
advantage
,
and
by
being
able
to
do
without
what
other
people
require
I
can
spend
what
such
things
cost
upon
anybody
else
.
”
Now
,
Yeobright
,
having
inherited
some
of
these
very
instincts
from
the
woman
before
him
,
could
not
fail
to
awaken
a
reciprocity
in
her
through
her
feelings
,
if
not
by
arguments
,
disguise
it
as
she
might
for
his
good
.
She
spoke
with
less
assurance
.
“
And
yet
you
might
have
been
a
wealthy
man
if
you
had
only
persevered
.
Manager
to
that
large
diamond
establishment
—
what
better
can
a
man
wish
for
?
What
a
post
of
trust
and
respect
!
I
suppose
you
will
be
like
your
father
;
like
him
,
you
are
getting
weary
of
doing
well
.
”
“
No
,
”
said
her
son
,
“
I
am
not
weary
of
that
,
though
I
am
weary
of
what
you
mean
by
it
.
Mother
,
what
is
doing
well
?
”
Mrs
.
Yeobright
was
far
too
thoughtful
a
woman
to
be
content
with
ready
definitions
,
and
,
like
the
“
What
is
wisdom
?
”
of
Plato
’
s
Socrates
,
and
the
“
What
is
truth
?
”
of
Pontius
Pilate
,
Yeobright
’
s
burning
question
received
no
answer
.
The
silence
was
broken
by
the
clash
of
the
garden
gate
,
a
tap
at
the
door
,
and
its
opening
.
Christian
Cantle
appeared
in
the
room
in
his
Sunday
clothes
.
It
was
the
custom
on
Egdon
to
begin
the
preface
to
a
story
before
absolutely
entering
the
house
,
so
as
to
be
well
in
for
the
body
of
the
narrative
by
the
time
visitor
and
visited
stood
face
to
face
.
Christian
had
been
saying
to
them
while
the
door
was
leaving
its
latch
,
“
To
think
that
I
,
who
go
from
home
but
once
in
a
while
,
and
hardly
then
,
should
have
been
there
this
morning
!
”
