Page 125 - sons-and-lovers
P. 125
Everybody was mad with excitement. William was
coming on Christmas Eve. Mrs. Morel surveyed her pan-
try. There was a big plum cake, and a rice cake, jam tarts,
lemon tarts, and mince-pies— two enormous dishes. She
was finishing cooking—Spanish tarts and cheese-cakes.
Everywhere was decorated. The kissing bunch of berried
holly hung with bright and glittering things, spun slowly
over Mrs. Morel’s head as she trimmed her little tarts in
the kitchen. A great fire roared. There was a scent of cooked
pastry. He was due at seven o’clock, but he would be late.
The three children had gone to meet him. She was alone.
But at a quarter to seven Morel came in again. Neither wife
nor husband spoke. He sat in his armchair, quite awkward
with excitement, and she quietly went on with her baking.
Only by the careful way in which she did things could it be
told how much moved she was. The clock ticked on.
‘What time dost say he’s coming?’ Morel asked for the
fifth time.
‘The train gets in at half-past six,’ she replied emphati-
cally.
‘Then he’ll be here at ten past seven.’
‘Eh, bless you, it’ll be hours late on the Midland,’ she said
indifferently. But she hoped, by expecting him late, to bring
him early. Morel went down the entry to look for him. Then
he came back.
‘Goodness, man!’ she said. ‘You’re like an ill-sitting
hen.’
‘Hadna you better be gettin’ him summat t’ eat ready?’
asked the father.
1 Sons and Lovers