Page 351 - sons-and-lovers

he reached up—so sharp, straight to the mark. He turned
the pages quickly, and read her a chapter of St. John. As he
sat in the armchair reading, intent, his voice only thinking,
she felt as if he were using her unconsciously as a man uses
his tools at some work he is bent on. She loved it. And the
wistfulness of his voice was like a reaching to something,
and it was as if she were what he reached with. She sat back
on the sofa away from him, and yet feeling herself the very
instrument his hand grasped. It gave her great pleasure.
Then he began to falter and to get self-conscious. And
when he came to the verse, ‘A woman, when she is in travail,
hath sorrow because her hour is come’, he missed it out.
Miriam had felt him growing uncomfortable. She shrank
when the well-known words did not follow. He went on
reading, but she did not hear. A grief and shame made her
bend her head. Six months ago he would have read it sim-
ply. Now there was a scotch in his running with her. Now
she felt there was really something hostile between them,
something of which they were ashamed.
She ate her cake mechanically. He tried to go on with his
argument, but could not get back the right note. Soon Edgar
came in. Mrs. Morel had gone to her friends’. The three set
off to Willey Farm.
Miriam brooded over his split with her. There was some-
thing else he wanted. He could not be satisfied; he could
give her no peace. There was between them now always a
ground for strife. She wanted to prove him. She believed
that his chief need in life was herself. If she could prove it,
both to herself and to him, the rest might go; she could sim-

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