Far from the Madding Crowd HTML version
Scene on the Verge of the Hay-Mead
"AH, Miss Everdene!" said the sergeant, touching his diminutive cap. "Little did I
think it was you I was speaking to the other night. And yet, if I had reflected, the
"Queen of the Corn-market" (truth is truth at any hour of the day or night, and I
heard you so named in Casterbridge yesterday), the "Queen of the Corn-market."
I say, could be no other woman. I step across now to beg your forgiveness a
thousand times for having been led by my feelings to express myself too strongly
for a stranger. To be sure I am no stranger to the place -- I am Sergeant Troy, as
I told you, and I have assisted your uncle in these fields no end of times when I
was a lad. I have been doing the same for you today."
"I suppose I must thank you for that, Sergeant Troy," said the Queen of the Corn-
market, in an indifferently grateful tone.
The sergeant looked hurt and sad. "Indeed you must not, Miss Everdene," he
said. "Why could you think such a thing necessary?"
"I am glad it is not."
"Why? if I may ask without offence."
"Because I don't much want to thank you for anything."
"I am afraid I have made a hole with my tongue that my heart will never mend. O
these intolerable times: that ill-luck should follow a man for honestly telling a
woman she is beautiful! 'Twas the most I said -- you must own that; and the least
I could say -- that I own myself."
"There is some talk I could do without more easily than money."
"Indeed. That remark is a sort of digression."
"No. It means that I would rather have your room than your company."
"And I would rather have curses from you than kisses from any other woman; so
I'll stay here."
Bathsheba was absolutely speechless. And yet she could not help feeling that
the assistance he was rendering forbade a harsh repulse.
"Well," continued Troy, "I suppose there is a praise which is rudeness, and that
may be mine. At the same time there is a treatment which is injustice, and that
may be yours. Because a plain blunt man, who has never been taught
concealment, speaks out his mind without exactly intending it, he's to be snapped
off like the son of a sinner."
"Indeed there's no such case between us," she said, turning away. "I don't allow
strangers to be bold and impudent -- even in praise of me."
"Ah -- it is not the fact but the method which offends you," he said, carelessly.
"But I have the sad satisfaction of knowing that my words, whether pleasing or
offensive, are unmistakably true. Would you have had me look at you, and tell my
acquaintance that you are quite a common-place woman, to save you the
embarrassment of being stared at if they come near you? Not I. I couldn't tell any
such ridiculous lie about a beauty to encourage a single woman in England in too
excessive a modesty."