e Mayor's so-called step-daughter, but he was
only one. The truth is that she was but a poor illustrative instance of
the prophet Baruch's sly definition: "The virgin that loveth to go gay."

When she walked abroad she seemed to be occupied with an inner chamber
of ideas, and to have slight need for visible objects. She formed
curious resolves on checking gay fancies in the matter of clothes,
because it was inconsistent with her past life to blossom gaudily the
moment she had become possessed of money. But nothing is more insidious
than the evolution of wishes from mere fancies, and of wants from mere
wishes. Henchard gave Elizabeth-Jane a box of delicately-tinted gloves
one spring day. She wanted to wear them to show her appreciation of his
kindness, but she had no bonnet that would harmonize. As an artistic
indulgence she thought she would have such a bonnet. When she had a
bonnet that would go with the gloves she had no dress that would go with
the bonnet. It was now absolutely necessary to finish; she ordered the
requisite article, and found that she had no sunshade to go with the
dress. In for a penny in for a pound; she bought the sunshade, and the
whole structure was at last complete.

Everybody was attracted, and some said that her bygone simplicity was
the art that conceals art, the "delicate imposition" of Rochefoucauld;
she had produced an effect, a contrast, and it had been done on purpose.
As a matter of fact this was not true, but it had its result; for as
soon as Casterbridge thought her artful it thought her worth notice. "It
is the first time in my life that I have been so much admired," she said
to herself; "though perhaps it is by those whose admiration is not worth
having."

But Donald Farfrae admired her, too; and altogether the time was an
exciting one; sex had never before asserted itself in her so strongly,
for in former days she had perhaps been too impersonally human to be
distinctively feminine. After an unprecedented success one day she came
indoors, went upstairs, and leant upon her bed face downwards quite
forgetting the possible creasing and damage. "Good Heaven," she
whispered, "can it be? Here am I setting up as the town beauty!"

When she had thought it over, her usual fear of exaggerating appearances
engendered a deep sadness. "There is something wrong in all this," she
mused. "If they only knew what an unfinished girl I am--that I can't
talk Italian, or use globes, or show any of t