"Yes, perhaps."
"That will be very nice. Shall I come and see you there? It is in this direction, and I could come any afternoon by train for half an hour?"
"No. Don't come!"
"What—aren't we going to be friends, then, any longer, as we used to be?"
"No."
"I didn't know that. I thought you were always going to be kind to me!"
"No, I am not.'
"What have I done, then? I am sure I thought we two—" The tremolo in her voice caused her to break off.
"Sue, I sometimes think you are a flirt," said he, abruptly.
There was a momentary pause, till she suddenly jumped up, and, to his surprise, he saw by the kettle-flame that her face was flushed.
"I can't talk to you any longer, Jude," she said, the tragic contralto note having come back as of old. "It is getting too dark to stay together like this, after playing morbid Good-Friday tunes that make one feel what one shouldn't!... We mustn't sit and talk in this way any more! Yes—you must go away, for you mistake me! I am very much the reverse of what you say so cruelly—oh, Jude, it was cruel to say that! Yet I can't tell you the truth—I should shock you by letting you know how I give way to my impulses, and how much I feel that I shouldn't have been provided with attractiveness unless it were meant to be exercised! Some women's love of being loved is insatiable; and so, often, is their love of loving; and in the last case they may find that they can't give it continuously to the chamber-officer appointed by the bishop's license to receive it. But you are so straightforward, Jude, that you can't understand me.... Now you must go. I am sorry my husband is not at home."
"Are you?"
