Farfrae’s sudden entry was simply the result of Henchard’s permission to him to see Elizabeth if he were minded to woo her.  At first he had taken no notice of Henchard’s brusque letter; but an exceptionally fortunate business transaction put him on good terms with everybody, and revealed to him that he could undeniably marry if he chose.  Then who so pleasing, thrifty, and satisfactory in every way as Elizabeth-Jane?  Apart from her personal recommendations a reconciliation with his former friend Henchard would, in the natural course of things, flow from such a union.  He therefore forgave the Mayor his curtness; and this morning on his way to the fair he had called at her house, where he learnt that she was staying at Miss Templeman’s.  A little stimulated at not finding her ready and waiting—­so fanciful are men!—­he hastened on to High-Place Hall to encounter no Elizabeth but its mistress herself.

“The fair to-day seems a large one,” she said when, by natural deviation, their eyes sought the busy scene without.  “Your numerous fairs and markets keep me interested.  How many things I think of while I watch from here!”

He seemed in doubt how to answer, and the babble without reached them as they sat—­voices as of wavelets on a looping sea, one ever and anon rising above the rest.  “Do you look out often?” he asked.

“Yes—­very often.”

“Do you look for any one you know?”

Why should she have answered as she did?

“I look as at a picture merely.  But,” she went on, turning pleasantly to him, “I may do so now—­I may look for you.  You are always there, are you not?  Ah—­I don’t mean it seriously!  But it is amusing to look for somebody one knows in a crowd, even if one does not want him.  It takes off the terrible oppressiveness of being surrounded by a throng, and having no point of junction with it through a single individual.”

“Ay!  Maybe you’ll be very lonely, ma’am?”

“Nobody knows how lonely.”

“But you are rich, they say?”

“If so, I don’t know how to enjoy my riches.  I came to Casterbridge thinking I should like to live here.  But I wonder if I shall.”

“Where did ye come from, ma’am?”

“The neighbourhood of Bath.”

“And I from near Edinboro’,” he murmured.  “It’s better to stay at home, and that’s true; but a man must live where his money is made.  It is a great pity, but it’s always so!  Yet I’ve done very well this year.  O yes,” he went on with ingenuous enthusiasm.  “You see that man with the drab kerseymere coat?  I bought largely of him in the autumn when wheat was down, and then afterwards when it rose a little I sold off all I had!  It brought only a small profit to me; while the farmers kept theirs, expecting higher figures—­yes, though the rats were gnawing the ricks hollow.  Just when I sold the markets went lower, and I bought up the corn of those who had been holding back at less price than my first purchases.  And then,” cried Farfrae impetuously, his face alight, “I sold it a few weeks after, when it happened to go up again!  And so, by contenting mysel’ with small profits frequently repeated, I soon made five hundred pounds—­yes!”—­(bringing down his hand upon the table, and quite forgetting where he was)—­“while the others by keeping theirs in hand made nothing at all!”