Jude the Obsure

"I've come entirely to look for you, dear boy. You are not well.

Now you must have something better than that." Arabella held up her

finger to the barmaid. "You shall have a liqueur--that's better fit

for a man of education than beer. You shall have maraschino, or

curacao dry or sweet, or cherry brandy. I'll treat you, poor chap!"

"I don't care which! Say cherry brandy... Sue has served me badly,

very badly. I didn't expect it of Sue! I stuck to her, and she

ought to have stuck to me. I'd have sold my soul for her sake, but

she wouldn't risk hers a jot for me. To save her own soul she lets

mine go damn! ... But it isn't her fault, poor little girl--I am

sure it isn't!"

How Arabella had obtained money did not appear, but she ordered a

liqueur each, and paid for them. When they had drunk these Arabella

suggested another; and Jude had the pleasure of being, as it were,

personally conducted through the varieties of spirituous delectation

by one who knew the landmarks well. Arabella kept very considerably

in the rear of Jude; but though she only sipped where he drank, she

took as much as she could safely take without losing her head--which

was not a little, as the crimson upon her countenance showed.

Her tone towards him to-night was uniformly soothing and cajoling;

and whenever he said "I don't care what happens to me," a thing he

did continually, she replied, "But I do very much!" The closing hour

came, and they were compelled to turn out; whereupon Arabella put her

arm round his waist, and guided his unsteady footsteps.

When they were in the streets she said: "I don't know what our

landlord will say to my bringing you home in this state. I expect we

are fastened out, so that he'll have to come down and let us in."

"I don't know--I don't know."

"That's the worst of not having a home of your own. I tell you,

Jude, what we had best do. Come round to my father's--I made it up

with him a bit to-day. I can let you in, and nobody will see you at

all; and by to-morrow morning you'll be all right."

"Anything--anywhere," replied Jude. "What the devil does it matter

to me?"

They went along together, like any other fuddling couple, her arm

still round his waist, and his, at last, round hers; though with no

amatory intent; but merely because he was weary, unstable, and in

need of support.