"A d'Urberville!-Indeed!
And is that all the trouble, dear Tess?"
"Yes," she answered faintly.
"Well-why should I love you less after knowing this?"
"I was told by the dairyman that you hated old families."
He laughed.
"Well, it is true, in one sense.
I do hate the aristocratic principle of blood before everything, and do think that as reasoners the only pedigrees we ought to respect are those spiritual ones of the wise and virtuous, without regard to corporal paternity.
But I am extremely interested in this news-you can have no idea how interested I am!
Are you not interested yourself in being one of that well-known line?"
"No.
I have thought it sad-especially since coming here, and knowing that many of the hills and fields I see once belonged to my father's people.
But other hills and field belonged to Retty's people, and perhaps others to Marian's, so that I don't value it particularly."
"Yes-it is surprising how many of the present tillers of the soil were once owners of it, and I sometimes wonder that a certain school of politicians don't make capital of the circumstance; but they don't seem to know it...
I wonder that I did not see the resemblance of your name to d'Urberville, and trace the manifest corruption.
And this was the carking secret!"
She had not told.
At the last moment her courage had failed her; she feared his blame for not telling him sooner; and her instinct of self-preservation was stronger than her candour.
"Of course," continued the unwitting Clare,
"I should have been glad to know you to be descended exclusively from the long-suffering, dumb, unrecorded rank and file of the English nation, and not from the self-seeking few who made themselves powerful at the expense of the rest.
But I am corrupted away from that by my affection for you, Tess (he laughed as he spoke), and made selfish likewise.
For your own sake I rejoice in your descent.
Society is hopelessly snobbish, and this fact of your extraction may make an appreciable difference to its acceptance of you as my wife, after I have made you the well-read woman that I mean to make you.
My mother too, poor soul, will think so much better of you on account of it.
Tess, you must spell your name correctly-d'Urberville-from this very day."
"I like the other way rather best."
"But you MUST, dearest!
Good heavens, why dozens of mushroom millionaires would jump at such a possession!
By the bye, there's one of that kidney who has taken the name-where have I heard of him?-Up in the neighbourhood of The Chase, I think.
Why, he is the very man who had that rumpus with my father I told you of.
What an odd coincidence!"
"Angel, I think I would rather not take the name!
It is unlucky, perhaps!"
She was agitated.
"Now then, Mistress Teresa d'Urberville, I have you.
Take my name, and so you will escape yours!
The secret is out, so why should you any longer refuse me?"
"If it is SURE to make you happy to have me as your wife, and you feel that you do wish to marry me, VERY, VERY much-"
"I do, dearest, of course!"
"I mean, that it is only your wanting me very much, and being hardly able to keep alive without me, whatever my offences, that would make me feel I ought to say I will."
"You will-you do say it, I know!
You will be mine for ever and ever."
He clasped her close and kissed her.
"Yes!"
She had no sooner said it than she burst into a dry hard sobbing, so violent that it seemed to rend her.
Tess was not a hysterical girl by any means, and he was surprised.
"Why do you cry, dearest?"
"I can't tell-quite!-I am so glad to think-of being yours, and making you happy!"
"But this does not seem very much like gladness, my Tessy!"
"I mean-I cry because I have broken down in my vow!