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dream； unconscious of weight or effort； and showing her all things
through a soft； liquid veil； as if she were living not in this solid
world of brick and stone； but in a beatified world； such as the sun
lights up for us in the waters。 Hetty had become aware that Mr。
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Arthur Donnithorne would take a good deal of trouble for the
chance of seeing her； that he always placed himself at church so as
to have the fullest view of her both sitting and standing； that he
was constantly finding reason for calling at the Hall Farm； and
always would contrive to say something for the sake of making her
speak to him and look at him。 The poor child no more conceived at
present the idea that the young squire could ever be her lover than
a baker’s pretty daughter in the crowd； whom a young emperor
distinguishes by an imperial but admiring smile； conceives that
she shall be made empress。 But the baker’s daughter goes home
and dreams of the handsome young emperor； and perhaps weighs
the flour amiss while she is thinking what a heavenly lot it must be
to have him for a husband。 And so； poor Hetty had got a face and a
presence haunting her waking and sleeping dreams； bright； soft
glances had penetrated her； and suffused her life with a strange；
happy languor。 The eyes that shed those glances were really not
half so fine as Adam’s； which sometimes looked at her with a sad；
beseeching tenderness； but they had found a ready medium in
Hetty’s little silly imagination； whereas Adam’s could get no
entrance through that atmosphere。 For three weeks； at least； her
inward life had consisted of little else than living through in
memory the looks and words Arthur had directed towards her—of
little else than recalling the sensations with which she heard his
voice outside the house； and saw him enter； and became conscious
that his eyes were fixed on her； and then became conscious that a
tall figure； looking down on her with eyes that seemed to touch
her； was coming nearer in clothes of beautiful texture with an
odour like that of a flower…garden borne on the evening breeze。
Foolish thoughts！ But all this happened； you must remember；
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nearly sixty years ago； and Hetty was quite uneducated—a simple
farmer’s girl； to whom a gentleman with a white hand was
dazzling as an Olympian god。 Until to…day； she had never looked
farther into the future than to the next time Captain Donnithorne
would come to the Farm； or the next Sunday when she should see
him at church； but now she thought； perhaps he would try to meet
her when she went to the Chase to…morrow—and if he should
speak to her； and walk a little way； when nobody was by！ That had
never happened yet； and now her imagination； instead of retracing
the past； was busy fashioning what would happen to…morrow—
whereabout in the Chase she should see him coming towards her；
how she should put her new rose…coloured ribbon on； which he
had never seen； and what he would say to her to make her return
his glance—a glance which she would be living through in her
memory； over and over again； all the rest of the day。
In this state of mind； how could Hetty give any feeling to
Adam’s troubles； or think much about poor old Thias being
drowned？ Young souls； in such pleasant delirium as hers are as
unsympathetic as butterflies sipping nectar； they are isolated from
all appeals by a barrier of dreams—by invisible looks and
impalpable arms。
While Hetty’s hands were busy packing up the butter； and her
head filled with these pictures of the morrow； Arthur
Donnithorne； riding by Mr。 Irwine’s side towards the valley of the
Willow Brook； had also certain indistinct anticipations； running as
an undercurrent in his mind while he was listening to Mr。 Irwine’s
account of Dinah—indistinct； yet strong enough to make him feel
rather conscious when Mr。 Irwine suddenly said；
“What fascinated you so in Mrs。 Poyser’s dairy； Arthur？ Have
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you become an amateur of damp quarries and skimming dishes？”
Arthur knew the rector too well to suppose that a clever
invention would be of any use； so he said； with his accustomed
frankness；
“No； I went to look at the pretty butter…maker Hetty Sorrel。
She’s a perfect Hebe； and if I were an artist； I would paint her。 It’s
amazing what pretty girls one sees among the farmers’ daughters；
when the men are such clowns。 That common； round； red face one
sees sometimes in the men—all cheek and no features； like Martin
Poyser’s—comes out in the women of the family as the most
charming phiz imaginable。”
“Well； I have no objection to your contemplating Hetty in an
artistic light； but I must not have you feeding her vanity and filling
her little noddle with the notion that she’s a great beauty；
attractive to fine gentlemen； or you will spoil her for a poor man’s
wife—honest Craig’s； for example； whom I have seen bestowing
soft glances on her。 The little puss seems already to have airs
enough to make a husband as miserable as it’s a law of nature for
a quiet man to be when he marries a beauty。 Apropos of marrying；
I hope our friend Adam will get settled； now the poor old man’s
gone。 He will only have his mother to keep in future； and I’ve a
notion that there’s a kindness between him and that nice modest
girl； Mary Burge； from something that fell from old Jonathan one
day when I was talking to him。 But when I mentioned the subject
to Adam he looked uneasy and turned the conversation。 I suppose
the