Jude the Obscure Thomas Hardy (read after .txt) 📖

in Jude, whatever it might have been when Arabella was new to him, had plainly flagged since her charms and her idiosyncrasies, her supernumerary hair-coils, and her optional dimples, were becoming as a tale that is told.

Arabella so regulated her pace and her husband’s as to keep just in the rear of the other three, which it was easy to do without notice in such a stream of pedestrians. Her answers to Cartlett’s remarks were vague and slight, for the group in front interested her more than all the rest of the spectacle.

“They are rather fond of one another and of their child, seemingly,” continued the publican.

“Their child! ’Tisn’t their child,” said Arabella with a curious, sudden covetousness. “They haven’t been married long enough for it to be theirs!”

But although the smouldering maternal instinct was strong enough in her to lead her to quash her husband’s conjecture, she was not disposed on second thoughts to be more candid than necessary. Mr. Cartlett had no other idea than that his wife’s child by her first husband was with his grandparents at the Antipodes.

“O I suppose not. She looks quite a girl.”

“They are only lovers, or lately married, and have the child in charge, as anybody can see.”

All continued to move ahead. The unwitting Sue and Jude, the couple in question, had determined to make this Agricultural Exhibition within twenty miles of their own town the occasion of a day’s excursion which should combine exercise and amusement with instruction, at small expense. Not regardful of themselves alone, they had taken care to bring Father Time, to try every means of making him kindle and laugh like other boys, though he was to some extent a hindrance to the delightfully unreserved intercourse in their pilgrimages which they so much enjoyed. But they soon ceased to consider him an observer, and went along with that tender attention to each other which the shyest can scarcely disguise, and which these, among entire strangers as they imagined, took less trouble to disguise than they might have done at home. Sue, in her new summer clothes, flexible and light as a bird, her little thumb stuck up by the stem of her white cotton sunshade, went along as if she hardly touched ground, and as if a moderately strong puff of wind would float her over the hedge into the next field. Jude, in his light grey holiday-suit, was really proud of her companionship, not more for her external attractiveness than for her sympathetic words and ways. That complete mutual understanding, in which every glance and movement was as effectual as speech for conveying intelligence between them, made them almost the two parts of a single whole.

The pair with their charge passed through the turnstiles, Arabella and her husband not far behind them. When inside the enclosure the publican’s wife could see that the two ahead began to take trouble with the youngster, pointing out and explaining the many objects of interest, alive and dead; and a passing sadness would touch their faces at their every failure to disturb his indifference.

“How she sticks to him!” said Arabella. “O no⁠—I fancy they are not married, or they wouldn’t be so much to one another as that.⁠ ⁠… I wonder!”

“But I thought you said he did marry her?”

“I heard he was going to⁠—that’s all, going to make another attempt, after putting it off once or twice.⁠ ⁠… As far as they themselves are concerned they are the only two in the show. I should be ashamed of making myself so silly if I were he!”

“I don’t see as how there’s anything remarkable in their behaviour. I should never have noticed their being in love, if you hadn’t said so.”

“You never see anything,” she rejoined. Nevertheless Cartlett’s view of the lovers’ or married pair’s conduct was undoubtedly that of the general crowd, whose attention seemed to be in no way attracted by what Arabella’s sharpened vision discerned.

“He’s charmed by her as if she were some fairy!” continued Arabella. “See how he looks round at her, and lets his eyes rest on her. I am inclined to think that she don’t care for him quite so much as he does for her. She’s not a particular warmhearted creature to my thinking, though she cares for him pretty middling much⁠—as much as she’s able to; and he could make her heart ache a bit if he liked to try⁠—which he’s too simple to do. There⁠—now they are going across to the carthorse sheds. Come along.”

“I don’t want to see the carthorses. It is no business of ours to follow these two. If we have come to see the show let us see it in our own way, as they do in theirs.”

“Well⁠—suppose we agree to meet somewhere in an hour’s time⁠—say at that refreshment tent over there, and go about independent? Then you can look at what you choose to, and so can I.”

Cartlett was not loth to agree to this, and they parted⁠—he proceeding to the shed where malting processes were being exhibited, and Arabella in the direction taken by Jude and Sue. Before, however, she had regained their wake a laughing face met her own, and she was confronted by Anny, the friend of her girlhood.

Anny had burst out in hearty laughter at the mere fact of the chance rencounter. “I am still living down there,” she said, as soon as she was composed. “I am soon going to be married, but my intended couldn’t come up here today. But there’s lots of us come by excursion, though I’ve lost the rest of ’em for the present.”

“Have you met Jude and his young woman, or wife, or whatever she is? I saw ’em by now.”

“No. Not a glimpse of un for years!”

“Well, they are close by here somewhere. Yes⁠—there they are⁠—by that grey horse!”

“O, that’s his present young woman⁠—wife did you say? Has he married again?”

“I don’t know.”

“She’s pretty, isn’t she!”

“Yes⁠—nothing to complain of; or jump at. Not much to depend on, though;