A little laugh of objection came from Sue. "I think not. You may come part of the way."
"But stop—you can't go to-night! That train won't take you to Shaston. You must stay and go back tomorrow. Mrs. Edlin has plenty of room, if you don't like to stay here?"
"Very well," she said, dubiously. "I didn't tell him I would come for certain."
Jude went to the widow's house adjoining, to let her know; and returning in a few minutes, sat down again.
"It is horrible how we are circumstanced, Sue—horrible!" he said, abruptly, with his eyes bent to the floor.
"No! Why?"
"I can't tell you all my part of the gloom. Your part is that you ought not to have married him. I saw it before you had done it, but I thought I mustn't interfere. I was wrong. I ought to have!"
"But what makes you assume all this, dear?"
"Because—I can see you through your feathers, my poor little bird!"
Her hand lay on the table, and Jude put his upon it. Sue drew hers away.
"That's absurd, Sue," cried he, "after what we've been talking about! I am more strict and formal than you, if it comes to that; and that you should object to such an innocent action shows that you are ridiculously inconsistent!"
"Perhaps it was too prudish," she said, repentantly. "Only, I have fancied it was a sort of trick of ours—too frequent perhaps. There, you may hold it as much as you like. Is that good of me?"
"Yes; very."
"But I must tell him."
"Who?"
"Richard."
"Oh—of course, if you think it necessary. But as it means nothing, it may be bothering him needlessly."
