She then told him the circumstances.  All that he had known of the affair before he returned from Paris was that there had existed an attachment between Thomasin and Wildeve, which his mother had at first discountenanced, but had since, owing to the arguments of Thomasin, looked upon in a little more favourable light.  When she, therefore, proceeded to explain all he was greatly surprised and troubled.

“And she determined that the wedding should be over before you came back,” said Mrs. Yeobright, “that there might be no chance of her meeting you, and having a very painful time of it.  That’s why she has gone to him; they have arranged to be married this morning.”

“But I can’t understand it,” said Yeobright, rising. “’Tis so unlike her.  I can see why you did not write to me after her unfortunate return home.  But why didn’t you let me know when the wedding was going to be—­the first time?”

“Well, I felt vexed with her just then.  She seemed to me to be obstinate; and when I found that you were nothing in her mind I vowed that she should be nothing in yours.  I felt that she was only my niece after all; I told her she might marry, but that I should take no interest in it, and should not bother you about it either.”

“It wouldn’t have been bothering me.  Mother, you did wrong.”

“I thought it might disturb you in your business, and that you might throw up your situation, or injure your prospects in some way because of it, so I said nothing.  Of course, if they had married at that time in a proper manner, I should have told you at once.”

“Tamsin actually being married while we are sitting here!”

“Yes.  Unless some accident happens again, as it did the first time.  It may, considering he’s the same man.”

“Yes, and I believe it will.  Was it right to let her go?  Suppose Wildeve is really a bad fellow?”

“Then he won’t come, and she’ll come home again.”

“You should have looked more into it.”

“It is useless to say that,” his mother answered with an impatient look of sorrow.  “You don’t know how bad it has been here with us all these weeks, Clym.  You don’t know what a mortification anything of that sort is to a woman.  You don’t know the sleepless nights we’ve had in this house, and the almost bitter words that have passed between us since that Fifth of November.  I hope never to pass seven such weeks again.  Tamsin has not gone outside the door, and I have been ashamed to look anybody in the face; and now you blame me for letting her do the only thing that can be done to set that trouble straight.”

“No,” he said slowly.  “Upon the whole I don’t blame you.  But just consider how sudden it seems to me.  Here was I, knowing nothing; and then I am told all at once that Tamsie is gone to be married.  Well, I suppose there was nothing better to do.  Do you know, mother,” he continued after a moment or two, looking suddenly interested in his own past history, “I once thought of Tamsin as a sweetheart?  Yes, I did.  How odd boys are!  And when I came home and saw her this time she seemed so much more affectionate than usual, that I was quite reminded of those days, particularly on the night of the party, when she was unwell.  We had the party just the same—­was not that rather cruel to her?”