Jude the Obsure

"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,'"