But Elizabeth-Jane clung so closely to her nook that she discerned
nothing of this. Henchard passed in, as ignorant of her presence as she
was ignorant of his identity, and disappeared in the darkness. Elizabeth
came out a second time into the alley, and made the best of her way
home.

Henchard's chiding, by begetting in her a nervous fear of doing anything
definable as unladylike, had operated thus curiously in keeping them
unknown to each other at a critical moment. Much might have resulted
from recognition--at the least a query on either side in one and the
selfsame form: What could he or she possibly be doing there?

Henchard, whatever his business at the lady's house, reached his own
home only a few minutes later than Elizabeth-Jane. Her plan was to
broach the question of leaving his roof this evening; the events of the
day had urged her to the course. But its execution depended upon his
mood, and she anxiously awaited his manner towards her. She found that
it had changed. He showed no further tendency to be angry; he
showed something worse. Absolute indifference had taken the place
of irritability; and his coldness was such that it encouraged her to
departure, even more than hot temper could have done.

"Father, have you any objection to my going away?" she asked.

"Going away! No--none whatever. Where are you going?"

She thought it undesirable and unnecessary to say anything at present
about her destination to one who took so little interest in her. He
would know that soon enough. "I have heard of an opportunity of getting
more cultivated and finished, and being less idle," she answered,
with hesitation. "A chance of a place in a household where I can have
advantages of study, and seeing refined life."

"Then make the best of it, in Heaven's name--if you can't get cultivated
where you are."

"You don't object?"

"Object--I? Ho--no! Not at all." After a pause he said, "But you won't
have enough money for this lively scheme without help, you know? If you
like I should be willing to make you an allowance, so that you not be
bound to live upon the starvation wages refined folk are likely to pay
'ee."

She thanked him for this offer.

"It had better be done properly," he added after a pause. "A small
annuity is what I should like you to have--so as to be independent of
me--and so that I may be independent of you. Would that please ye?"

"Certainly."

"Then I'll see about it this very day." He seemed