Page 242 - sons-and-lovers

book. He was quick and hasty. She never answered. Occa-
sionally, when he demanded of her, ‘Do you see?’ she looked
up at him, her eyes wide with the half-laugh that comes of
fear. ‘Don’t you?’ he cried.
He had been too fast. But she said nothing. He ques-
tioned her more, then got hot. It made his blood rouse to see
her there, as it were, at his mercy, her mouth open, her eyes
dilated with laughter that was afraid, apologetic, ashamed.
Then Edgar came along with two buckets of milk.
‘Hello!’ he said. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Algebra,’ replied Paul.
‘Algebra!’ repeated Edgar curiously. Then he passed on
with a laugh. Paul took a bite at his forgotten apple, looked
at the miserable cabbages in the garden, pecked into lace by
the fowls, and he wanted to pull them up. Then he glanced
at Miriam. She was poring over the book, seemed absorbed
in it, yet trembling lest she could not get at it. It made him
cross. She was ruddy and beautiful. Yet her soul seemed
to be intensely supplicating. The algebra-book she closed,
shrinking, knowing he was angered; and at the same in-
stant he grew gentle, seeing her hurt because she did not
understand.
But things came slowly to her. And when she held her-
self in a grip, seemed so utterly humble before the lesson, it
made his blood rouse. He stormed at her, got ashamed, con-
tinued the lesson, and grew furious again, abusing her. She
listened in silence. Occasionally, very rarely, she defended
herself. Her liquid dark eyes blazed at him.
‘You don’t give me time to learn it,’ she said.

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