"I'm afraid Dick's a lost man," said the tranter. "There's too many o' them looks out of the winder without noticing anything: too much shining of boots -- too much looking at the clock: telling about clever things She did till you be sick of it, and then upon a hint to that effect a horrible silence about her. I've walked the path once in my life and know the country, neighbors; and Dick's a lost man!"
"If we be doomed to marry, we marry; if we be doomed to remain single we do," replied Dick.
Three months had elapsed since Dick and Fancy had journeyed together from Budmouth, and the course of their love had run on vigorously during the whole time. There had been just enough difficulty attending its development, and just enough finesse required in keeping it private, to lend the passion an ever-increasing freshness on Fancy's part, whilst whether from these accessories or not, Dick's heart had been at all times as fond as could be desired. But there was a cloud on Fancy's horizon.
"How much you are to me depends upon how much I am to you," she said in low tones.
P.S. This book counts as my 19th Century Classic for Karen's 2019 Back to the Classics Challenge. But I'm kind of wishing I'd stuck to my original plan and read Return of the Native instead. Oh, well. Maybe next time.
Two other Hardy reviews: