Tess attempted to expostulate, but at this juncture all her fluency
failed her, and without heeding he added:
"Well, this paradise that you supply is perhaps as good as any other,
after all. But to speak seriously, Tess." D'Urberville rose and
came nearer, reclining sideways amid the sheaves, and resting upon
his elbow. "Since I last saw you, I have been thinking of what
you said that HE said. I have come to the conclusion that there
does seem rather a want of common-sense in these threadbare old
propositions; how I could have been so fired by poor Parson Clare's
enthusiasm, and have gone so madly to work, transcending even him, I
cannot make out! As for what you said last time, on the strength of
your wonderful husband's intelligence--whose name you have never told
me--about having what they call an ethical system without any dogma,
I don't see my way to that at all."
"Why, you can have the religion of loving-kindness and purity at
least, if you can't have--what do you call it--dogma."
"O no! I'm a different sort of fellow from that! If there's nobody
to say, 'Do this, and it will be a good thing for you after you are
dead; do that, and if will be a bad thing for you,' I can't warm up.
Hang it, I am not going to feel responsible for my deeds and passions
if there's nobody to be responsible to; and if I were you, my dear,
I wouldn't either!" She tried to argue, and tell him that he had mixed in his dull
brain two matters, theology and morals, which in the primitive days
of mankind had been quite distinct. But owing to Angel Clare's
reticence, to her absolute want of training, and to her being a
vessel of emotions rather than reasons, she could not get on.
"Well, never mind," he resumed. "Here I am, my love, as in the old
times!" "Not as then--never as then--'tis different!" she entreated. "And
there was never warmth with me! O why didn't you keep your faith,
if the loss of it has brought you to speak to me like this!"
"Because you've knocked it out of me; so the evil be upon your sweet
head! Your husband little thought how his teaching would recoil upon
him! Ha-ha--I'm awfully glad you have made an apostate of me all the
same! Tess, I am more taken with you than ever, and I pity you too.
For all your closeness, I see you are in a bad way--neglected by one
who ought to cherish you." She could not get her morsels of food down her throat; her lips
were dry, and she was ready to choke. The voices and laughs of the
workfolk eating and drinking under the rick came to her as if they
were a quarter of a mile off. "It is cruelty to me!" she said.