Jude fell back upon his old complaint--that, intimate as they were,
he had never once had from her an honest, candid declaration that she
loved or could love him. "I really fear sometimes that you cannot,"
he said, with a dubiousness approaching anger. "And you are so
reticent. I know that women are taught by other women that they
must never admit the full truth to a man. But the highest form of
affection is based on full sincerity on both sides. Not being men,
these women don't know that in looking back on those he has had
tender relations with, a man's heart returns closest to her who
was the soul of truth in her conduct. The better class of man,
even if caught by airy affectations of dodging and parrying, is not
retained by them. A Nemesis attends the woman who plays the game of
elusiveness too often, in the utter contempt for her that, sooner
or later, her old admirers feel; under which they allow her to go
unlamented to her grave."
Sue, who was regarding the distance, had acquired a guilty look; and
she suddenly replied in a tragic voice: "I don't think I like you
to-day so well as I did, Jude!"
"Don't you? Why?"
"Oh, well--you are not nice--too sermony. Though I suppose I am so
bad and worthless that I deserve the utmost rigour of lecturing!"
"No, you are not bad. You are a dear. But as slippery as an eel
when I want to get a confession from you."
"Oh yes I am bad, and obstinate, and all sorts! It is no use your
pretending I am not! People who are good don't want scolding as I
do... But now that I have nobody but you, and nobody to defend me,
it is very hard that I mustn't have my own way in deciding how I'll
live with you, and whether I'll be married or no!"
"Sue, my own comrade and sweetheart, I don't want to force you either
to marry or to do the other thing--of course I don't! It is too
wicked of you to be so pettish! Now we won't say any more about it,
and go on just the same as we have done; and during the rest of our
walk we'll talk of the meadows only, and the floods, and the prospect
of the farmers this coming year."
After this the subject of marriage was not mentioned by them for
several days, though living as they were with only a landing between
them it was constantly in their minds. Sue was assisting Jude very
materially now: he had latterly occupied himself on his own account
in working and lettering headstones, which he kept in a little yard
at the back of his little house, where in the intervals of domestic
duties she marked out the letters full size for him, and blacked them
in after he had cut them. It was a lower class of handicraft than
were his former performances as a cathedral mason, and his only
patrons were the poor people who lived in his own neighbourhood,
and knew what a cheap man this "Jude Fawley: Monumental Mason"
(as he called himself on his front door) was to employ for the
simple memorials they required for their dead. But he seemed more
independent than before, and it was the only arrangement under which
Sue, who particularly wished to be no burden on him, could render any
assistance.