The numerous evidences of her power to attract were only thrown into greater relief by a marked exception. Women seem to have eyes in their ribbons for such matters as these. Bathsheba, without looking within a right angle of him, was conscious of a black sheep among the flock.
It perplexed her first. If there had been a respectable minority on either side, the case would have been most natural. If nobody had regarded her, she would have taken the matter indifferently - such cases had occurred.
If everybody, this man included, she would have taken it as a matter of course - people had done so before. But the smallness of the exception made the mystery.
She soon knew thus much of the recusant's appearance. He was a gentlemanly man, with full and distinctly outlined Roman features, the prominences of which glowed in the sun with a bronze-like richness of tone. He was erect in attitude, and quiet in demeanour. One characteristic pre-eminently marked him - dignity.
Apparently he had some time ago reached that entrance to middle age at which a man's aspect naturally ceases to alter for the term of a dozen years or so and, artificially, a woman's does likewise. Thirty-five and fifty were his limits of variation - he might have been either, or anywhere between the two.
It may be said that married men of forty are usually ready and generous enough to fling passing glances at any specimen of moderate beauty they may discern by the way. Probably, as with persons playing whist for love, the consciousness of a certain immunity under any circumstances from that worst possible ultimate, the having to pay, makes them unduly speculative.
Bathsheba was convinced that this unmoved person was not a married man.
When marketing was over, she rushed off to Liddy, who was waiting for her beside the yellow gig in which they had driven to town. The horse was put in, and on they trotted - Bathsheba's sugar, tea, and drapery parcels being packed behind, and expressing in some indescribable manner, by their colour, shape, and general lineaments, that they were that young lady-farmer's property, and the grocer's and draper's no more.
`I've been through it, Liddy, and it is over. I shan't mind it again, for they will all have grown accustomed to seeing me there; but this morning it was as bad as being married - eyes everywhere!'
`I knowed it would be,' Liddy said. `Men be such a terrible class of society to look at a body.'
`But there was one man who had more sense than to waste his time upon me.' The information was put in this form that Liddy might not for a moment suppose her mistress was at all piqued. `A very good-looking man,' she continued, `upright; about forty, I should think. Do you know at all who he could be?'
Liddy couldn't think.
`Can't you guess at all?' said Bathsheba with some disappointment. `I haven't a notion; besides, 'tis no difference, since he took less notice of you than any of the rest. Now, if he'd taken more, it would have mattered a great deal.'
Bathsheba was suffering from the reverse feeling just then, and they bowled along in silence. A low carriage, bowling along still more rapidly behind a horse of unimpeachable breed, overtook and passed them.
`Why, there he is!' she said.
Liddy looked. `That! That's Farmer Boldwood - of course 'tis - the man you couldn't see the other day when he called.'
`Oh, Farmer Boldwood,' murmured Bathsheba, and looked at him as he outstripped them. The farmer had never turned his head once, but with eyes fixed on the most advanced point along the road, passed as unconsciously and abstractedly as if Bathsheba and her charms were thin air.
`He's an interesting man - don't you think so?' she remarked. `O yes, very. Everybody owns it,' replied Liddy.
`I wonder why he is so wrapt up and indifferent, and seemingly so far away from all he sees around him.'
`It is said - but not known for certain - that he met with some bitter disappointment when he was a young man and merry. A woman jilted him, they say.'
`People always say that - and we know very well women scarcely ever jilt men; 'tis the men who jilt us. I expect it is simply his nature to be so reserved.'
`Simply his nature - I expect so, miss - nothing else in the world.'
`Still, 'tis more romantic to think he has been served cruelly, poor thing! Perhaps, after all, he has.'
`Depend upon it he has. O yes, miss, he has! I feel he must have.'
`However, we are very apt to think extremes of people. I shouldn't wonder after all if it wasn't a little of both - just between the two - rather cruelly used and rather reserved.'
`O dear no, miss - I can't think it between the two!'
`That's most likely.'
`Well, yes, so it is. I am convinced it is most likely. You may take my word, miss, that that's what's the matter with him.'
