f maturer age.

The pain she experienced from the almost absolute obliviousness to
her existence that was shown by the pair of them became at times half
dissipated by her sense of its humourousness. When Lucetta had pricked
her finger they were as deeply concerned as if she were dying; when she
herself had been seriously sick or in danger they uttered a conventional
word of sympathy at the news, and forgot all about it immediately.
But, as regarded Henchard, this perception of hers also caused her
some filial grief; she could not help asking what she had done to
be neglected so, after the professions of solicitude he had made. As
regarded Farfrae, she thought, after honest reflection, that it was
quite natural. What was she beside Lucetta?--as one of the "meaner
beauties of the night," when the moon had risen in the skies.

She had learnt the lesson of renunciation, and was as familiar with the
wreck of each day's wishes as with the diurnal setting of the sun. If
her earthly career had taught her few book philosophies it had at least
well practised her in this. Yet her experience had consisted less in
a series of pure disappointments than in a series of substitutions.
Continually it had happened that what she had desired had not been
granted her, and that what had been granted her she had not desired. So
she viewed with an approach to equanimity the now cancelled days when
Donald had been her undeclared lover, and wondered what unwished-for
thing Heaven might send her in place of him.

26.

It chanced that on a fine spring morning Henchard and Farfrae met in the
chestnut-walk which ran along the south wall of the town. Each had just
come out from his early breakfast, and there was not another soul near.
Henchard was reading a letter from Lucetta, sent in answer to a note
from him, in which she made some excuse for not immediately granting him
a second interview that he had desired.

Donald had no wish to enter into conversation with his former friend on
their present constrained terms; neither would he pass him in scowling
silence. He nodded, and Henchard did the same. They receded from each
other several paces when a voice cried "Farfrae!" It was Henchard's, who
stood regarding him.

"Do you remember," said Henchard, as if it were the presence of the
thought and not of the man which made him speak, "do you remember my
story of that second woman--who suffered for her thoughtless intimacy
with me?"

"I d