“Tess—I couldn’t help it!” he began desperately, as he wiped his heated face, which had also a superimposed flush of excitement. “I felt that I must call at least to ask how you are. I assure you I had not been thinking of you at all till I saw you that Sunday; now I cannot get rid of your image, try how I may! It is hard that a good woman should do harm to a bad man; yet so it is. If you would only pray for me, Tess!”
The suppressed discontent of his manner was almost pitiable, and yet Tess did not pity him.
“How can I pray for you,” she said, “when I am forbidden to believe that the great Power who moves the world would alter His plans on my account?”
“You really think that?”
“Yes. I have been cured of the presumption of thinking otherwise.”
“Cured? By whom?”
“By my husband, if I must tell.”
“Ah—your husband—your husband! How strange it seems! I remember you hinted something of the sort the other day. What do you really believe in these matters, Tess?” he asked. “You seem to have no religion—perhaps owing to me.”
“But I have. Though I don’t believe in anything supernatural.”
D’Urberville looked at her with misgiving.
“Then do you think that the line I take is all wrong?”
“A good deal of it.”
“H’m—and yet I’ve felt so sure about it,” he said uneasily.