"Is your friendship broken off?"
"Oh yes. He died, poor fellow, two or three years after he had taken
his degree and left Christminster."
"You saw a good deal of him, I suppose?"
"Yes. We used to go about together--on walking tours, reading tours,
and things of that sort--like two men almost. He asked me to live
with him, and I agreed to by letter. But when I joined him in London
I found he meant a different thing from what I meant. He wanted me
to be his mistress, in fact, but I wasn't in love with him--and on
my saying I should go away if he didn't agree to MY plan, he did
so. We shared a sitting-room for fifteen months; and he became a
leader-writer for one of the great London dailies; till he was taken
ill, and had to go abroad. He said I was breaking his heart by
holding out against him so long at such close quarters; he could
never have believed it of woman. I might play that game once too
often, he said. He came home merely to die. His death caused a
terrible remorse in me for my cruelty--though I hope he died of
consumption and not of me entirely. I went down to Sandbourne
to his funeral, and was his only mourner. He left me a little
money--because I broke his heart, I suppose. That's how men
are--so much better than women!"
"Good heavens!--what did you do then?"
"Ah--now you are angry with me!" she said, a contralto note of
tragedy coming suddenly into her silvery voice. "I wouldn't have
told you if I had known!"
"No, I am not. Tell me all."
"Well, I invested his money, poor fellow, in a bubble scheme, and
lost it. I lived about London by myself for some time, and then I
returned to Christminster, as my father-- who was also in London, and
had started as an art metal-worker near Long-Acre--wouldn't have me
back; and I got that occupation in the artist-shop where you found
me... I said you didn't know how bad I was!"
Jude looked round upon the arm-chair and its occupant, as if to read
more carefully the creature he had given shelter to. His voice
trembled as he said: "However you have lived, Sue, I believe you are
as innocent as you are unconventional!"
"I am not particularly innocent, as you see, now that I have
'twitched the robe
From that blank lay-figure your fancy draped,'"