“Very well.” And he hinted gently what had been revealed to him. “But I don’t wish to dwell upon it. Let us say no more about it.”
Her defensive manner collapsed. “That was nothing,” she said, laughing coldly. “Every woman has a right to do such as that. The risk is hers.”
“I quite deny it, Bella. She might if no lifelong penalty attached to it for the man, or, in his default, for herself; if the weakness of the moment could end with the moment, or even with the year. But when effects stretch so far she should not go and do that which entraps a man if he is honest, or herself if he is otherwise.”
“What ought I to have done?”
“Given me time… Why do you fuss yourself about melting down that pig’s fat to-night? Please put it away!”
“Then I must do it to-morrow morning. It won’t keep.”
“Very well—do.”
XI
Next morning, which was Sunday, she resumed operations about ten o’clock; and the renewed work recalled the conversation which had accompanied it the night before, and put her back into the same intractable temper.
“That’s the story about me in Marygreen, is it—that I entrapped ’ee? Much of a catch you were, Lord send!” As she warmed she saw some of Jude’s dear ancient classics on a table where they ought not to have been laid. “I won’t have them books here in the way!” she cried petulantly; and seizing them one by one she began throwing them upon the floor.