Page 288 - sons-and-lovers

furious. They hated each other in silence.
Clara Dawes had no children. When she had left her hus-
band the home had been broken up, and she had gone to
live with her mother. Dawes lodged with his sister. In the
same house was a sister-in-law, and somehow Paul knew
that this girl, Louie Travers, was now Dawes’s woman. She
was a handsome, insolent hussy, who mocked at the youth,
and yet flushed if he walked along to the station with her as
she went home.
The next time he went to see Miriam it was Saturday
evening. She had a fire in the parlour, and was waiting
for him. The others, except her father and mother and the
young children, had gone out, so the two had the parlour
together. It was a long, low, warm room. There were three
of Paul’s small sketches on the wall, and his photo was on
the mantelpiece. On the table and on the high old rosewood
piano were bowls of coloured leaves. He sat in the armchair,
she crouched on the hearthrug near his feet. The glow was
warm on her handsome, pensive face as she kneeled there
like a devotee.
‘What did you think of Mrs. Dawes?’ she asked quietly.
‘She doesn’t look very amiable,’ he replied.
‘No, but don’t you think she’s a fine woman?’ she said, in
a deep tone,
‘Yes—in stature. But without a grain of taste. I like her
for some things. IS she disagreeable?’
‘I don’t think so. I think she’s dissatisfied.’
‘What with?’
‘Well—how would you like to be tied for life to a man