The tone in which this word was uttered was all that had been wanted to bring Boldwood to the point.
"I wish to speak a word with you," he said.
"What about?"
"About her who lives just ahead there—and about a woman you have wronged."
"I wonder at your impertinence," said Troy, moving on.
"Now look here," said Boldwood, standing in front of him, "wonder or not, you are going to hold a conversation with me."
Troy heard the dull determination in Boldwood's voice, looked at his stalwart frame, then at the thick cudgel he carried in his hand. He remembered it was past ten o'clock. It seemed worth while to be civil to Boldwood.
"Very well, I'll listen with pleasure," said Troy, placing his bag on the ground, "only speak low, for somebody or other may overhear us in the farmhouse there."
"Well then—I know a good deal concerning your—Fanny Robin's attachment to you. I may say, too, that I believe I am the only person in the village, excepting Gabriel Oak, who does know it. You ought to marry her."
"I suppose I ought. Indeed, I wish to, but I cannot."
