removed it from obstinacy, as there was a naïveté in her cheapening which saved it from meanness.
Those of the farmers with whom she had no dealings (by far the greater part) were continually asking each other, "Who is she?" The reply would be,―
"Farmer Everdene's niece; took on Weatherbury Upper Farm; turned away the baily, and swears she'll do everything herself."
The other man would then shake his head.
"Yes, 'tis a pity she's so headstrong," the first would say. "But we ought to be proud of her here—she lightens up the old place. 'Tis such a shapely maid, however, that she'll soon get picked up."
It would be ungallant to suggest that the novelty of her engagement in such an occupation had almost as much to do with the magnetisın as had the beauty of her face and movements. However, the interest was general, and this Saturday's débût in the forum, whatever it may have been to Bathsheba as the buying and selling farmer, was unquestionably a triumph to her as the maiden. Indeed, the sensation was so pronounced that her instinct on two or three occasions was to merely walk as a queen among these gods of the fallow, like a little sister of a little Jove, and to neglect closing prices altogether.
