Page 315 - sons-and-lovers

combed his young moustache. ‘It’s a wicked moustache,
‘Postle,’ she said. ‘It’s a red for danger. Have you got any of
those cigarettes?’
He pulled his cigarette-case from his pocket. Beatrice
looked inside it.
‘And fancy me having Connie’s last cig.,’ said Beatrice,
putting the thing between her teeth. He held a lit match to
her, and she puffed daintily.
‘Thanks so much, darling,’ she said mockingly.
It gave her a wicked delight.
‘Don’t you think he does it nicely, Miriam?’ she asked.
‘Oh, very!’ said Miriam.
He took a cigarette for himself.
‘Light, old boy?’ said Beatrice, tilting her cigarette at
him.
He bent forward to her to light his cigarette at hers. She
was winking at him as he did so. Miriam saw his eyes trem-
bling with mischief, and his full, almost sensual, mouth
quivering. He was not himself, and she could not bear it.
As he was now, she had no connection with him; she might
as well not have existed. She saw the cigarette dancing on
his full red lips. She hated his thick hair for being tumbled
loose on his forehead.
‘Sweet boy!’ said Beatrice, tipping up his chin and giving
him a little kiss on the cheek.
‘I s’ll kiss thee back, Beat,’ he said.
‘Tha wunna!’ she giggled, jumping up and going away.
‘Isn’t he shameless, Miriam?’
‘Quite,’ said Miriam. ‘By the way, aren’t you forgetting

1 Sons and Lovers