“That and other things. And there is no reason to wish it. We gave up all ambition, and were never so happy in our lives till his illness came.”
“Where are you living?”
“I don’t care to say.”
“Here in Kennetbridge?”
Sue’s manner showed Arabella that her random guess was right.
“Here comes the boy back again,” continued Arabella. “My boy and Jude’s!”
Sue’s eyes darted a spark. “You needn’t throw that in my face!” she cried.
“Very well—though I half-feel as if I should like to have him with me! … But Lord, I don’t want to take him from ’ee—ever I should sin to speak so profane—though I should think you must have enough of your own! He’s in very good hands, that I know; and I am not the woman to find fault with what the Lord has ordained. I’ve reached a more resigned frame of mind.”
“Indeed! I wish I had been able to do so.”
“You should try,” replied the widow, from the serene heights of a soul conscious not only of spiritual but of social superiority. “I make no boast of my awakening, but I’m not what I was. After Cartlett’s death I was passing the chapel in the street next ours, and went into it for shelter from a shower of rain. I felt a need of some sort of support under my loss, and, as ’twas righter than gin, I took to going there regular, and found it a great comfort. But I’ve left London now, you know, and at present I am living at Alfredston, with my friend Anny, to be near my own old country. I’m not come here to the fair to-day. There’s to be the foundation-stone of a new chapel laid this afternoon by a popular London preacher, and I drove over with Anny. Now I must go back to meet her.”