Soon the coach stopped to take up a parcel at a crossroad, and the young men got down. They stood watching it until it disappeared round a corner of the road, and then turned back towards Oxford, and struck into Bagley Wood, Hardy listening with evident pleasure to his friend's enthusiastic praise of his father. But he was not in a talking humour, and they were soon walking along together in silence.
This was the first time they had been alone together since the morning after their reconciliation; so presently Tom seized the occasion to recur to the subject which was uppermost in his thoughts.
“She has never answered my letter,” he began abruptly.
“I am very glad of it,” said Hardy.
“But why?”
“Because you know, you want it all broken off completely.”
“Yes, but still she might have just acknowledged it. You don't know how hard it is for me to keep away from the place.”
“My dear fellow, I know it must be hard work, but you are doing the right thing.”
“Yes, I hope so,” said Tom, with a sigh. “I haven't been within a hundred yards of 'The Choughs' this five days. The old lady must think it so odd.”
Hardy made no reply. What could he say but that no doubt she did?