Page 182 - sons-and-lovers

Morel?’
‘Is he?’ said Mrs. Morel. ‘That’s not very nice of him.’
‘It isn’t, really!’
‘You are cold,’ said the mother. ‘Won’t you come near
the fire?’
Morel jumped out of his armchair.
‘Come and sit you here!’ he cried. ‘Come and sit you
here!’
‘No, dad, keep your own chair. Sit on the sofa, Gyp,’ said
William.
‘No, no!’ cried Morel. ‘This cheer’s warmest. Come and
sit here, Miss Wesson.’
‘Thank you so much,’ said the girl, seating herself in the
collier’s armchair, the place of honour. She shivered, feeling
the warmth of the kitchen penetrate her.
‘Fetch me a hanky, Chubby dear!’ she said, putting up
her mouth to him, and using the same intimate tone as if
they were alone; which made the rest of the family feel as if
they ought not to be present. The young lady evidently did
not realise them as people: they were creatures to her for the
present. William winced.
In such a household, in Streatham, Miss Western would
have been a lady condescending to her inferiors. These peo-
ple were to her, certainly clownish—in short, the working
classes. How was she to adjust herself?
‘I’ll go,’ said Annie.
Miss Western took no notice, as if a servant had spoken.
But when the girl came downstairs again with the handker-
chief, she said: ‘Oh, thank you!’ in a gracious way.

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