Page 151 - sons-and-lovers

another word, after having insisted that ‘doigts’ meant ‘fin-
gers”. He followed his mother down the stairs. She looked at
him with her bright blue eyes full of love and joy.
‘I think you’ll like it,’ she said.
‘Doigts’ does mean ‘fingers’, mother, and it was the writ-
ing. I couldn’t read the writing.’
‘Never mind, my boy. I’m sure he’ll be all right, and you
won’t see much of him. Wasn’t that first young fellow nice?
I’m sure you’ll like them.’
‘But wasn’t Mr. Jordan common, mother? Does he own
it all?’
‘I suppose he was a workman who has got on,’ she said.
‘You mustn’t mind people so much. They’re not being dis-
agreeable to YOU—it’s their way. You always think people
are meaning things for you. But they don’t.’
It was very sunny. Over the big desolate space of the mar-
ket-place the blue sky shimmered, and the granite cobbles of
the paving glistened. Shops down the Long Row were deep
in obscurity, and the shadow was full of colour. Just where
the horse trams trundled across the market was a row of
fruit stalls, with fruit blazing in the sun—apples and piles
of reddish oranges, small green-gage plums and bananas.
There was a warm scent of fruit as mother and son passed.
Gradually his feeling of ignominy and of rage sank.
‘Where should we go for dinner?’ asked the mother.
It was felt to be a reckless extravagance. Paul had only
been in an eating-house once or twice in his life, and then
only to have a cup of tea and a bun. Most of the people of
Bestwood considered that tea and bread-and-butter, and

1 0 Sons and Lovers