II
"To-morrow is our grand day, you know. Where shall we go?"
"I have leave from three till nine. Wherever we can get to and come back from in that time. Not ruins, Jude—I don't care for them."
"Well—Wardour Castle. And then we can do Fonthill if we like-all in the same afternoon."
"Wardour is Gothic ruins—and I hate Gothic!"
"No. Quite otherwise. It is a classic building—Corinthian, I think; with a lot of pictures."
"Ah—that will do. I like the sound of Corinthian. We'll go."
Their conversation had run thus some few weeks later, and next morning they prepared to start. Every detail of the outing was a facet reflecting a sparkle to Jude, and he did not venture to meditate on the life of inconsistency he was leading. His Sue's conduct was one lovely conundrum to him; he could say no more.
There duly came the charm of calling at the College door for her; her emergence in a nunlike simplicity of costume that was rather enforced than desired; the traipsing along to the station, the porter's "B'your leave!" the screaming of the trains—everything formed the basis of a beautiful crystallization. Nobody stared at Sue, because she was so plainly dressed, which comforted Jude in the thought that only himself knew the charms those habiliments subdued. A matter of ten pounds spent in a drapery-shop, which had no connection with her real life or her real self, would have set all Melchester staring.
