“Well, my Beauty, what can I do for you?” said he, coming forward.  And perceiving that she stood quite confounded:  “Never mind me.  I am Mr d’Urberville.  Have you come to see me or my mother?”

This embodiment of a d’Urberville and a namesake differed even more from what Tess had expected than the house and grounds had differed.  She had dreamed of an aged and dignified face, the sublimation of all the d’Urberville lineaments, furrowed with incarnate memories representing in hieroglyphic the centuries of her family’s and England’s history.  But she screwed herself up to the work in hand, since she could not get out of it, and answered—­

“I came to see your mother, sir.”

“I am afraid you cannot see her—­she is an invalid,” replied the present representative of the spurious house; for this was Mr Alec, the only son of the lately deceased gentleman.  “Cannot I answer your purpose?  What is the business you wish to see her about?”

“It isn’t business—­it is—­I can hardly say what!”

“Pleasure?”

“Oh no.  Why, sir, if I tell you, it will seem—­”

Tess’s sense of a certain ludicrousness in her errand was now so strong that, notwithstanding her awe of him, and her general discomfort at being here, her rosy lips curved towards a smile, much to the attraction of the swarthy Alexander.

“It is so very foolish,” she stammered; “I fear can’t tell you!”

“Never mind; I like foolish things.  Try again, my dear,” said he kindly.

“Mother asked me to come,” Tess continued; “and, indeed, I was in the mind to do so myself likewise.  But I did not think it would be like this.  I came, sir, to tell you that we are of the same family as you.”

“Ho!  Poor relations?”

“Yes.”

“Stokes?”

“No; d’Urbervilles.”

“Ay, ay; I mean d’Urbervilles.”

“Our names are worn away to Durbeyfield; but we have several proofs that we are d’Urbervilles.  Antiquarians hold we are,—­and—­and we have an old seal, marked with a ramping lion on a shield, and a castle over him.  And we have a very old silver spoon, round in the bowl like a little ladle, and marked with the same castle.  But it is so worn that mother uses it to stir the pea-soup.”

“A castle argent is certainly my crest,” said he blandly.  “And my arms a lion rampant.”

“And so mother said we ought to make ourselves beknown to you—­as we’ve lost our horse by a bad accident, and are the oldest branch o’ the family.”

“Very kind of your mother, I’m sure.  And I, for one, don’t regret her step.”  Alec looked at Tess as he spoke, in a way that made her blush a little.  “And so, my pretty girl, you’ve come on a friendly visit to us, as relations?”

“I suppose I have,” faltered Tess, looking uncomfortable again.

“Well—­there’s no harm in it.  Where do you live?  What are you?”