Page 383 - sons-and-lovers

and her faith. It seemed to her he brought her the best of
himself to keep, and that she would guard it all her life. Nay,
the sky did not cherish the stars more surely and eternally
than she would guard the good in the soul of Paul Morel.
She went on home alone, feeling exalted, glad in her faith.
And then, the next day, Clara came. They were to have
tea in the hayfield. Miriam watched the evening drawing to
gold and shadow. And all the time Paul was sporting with
Clara. He made higher and higher heaps of hay that they
were jumping over. Miriam did not care for the game, and
stood aside. Edgar and Geoffrey and Maurice and Clara and
Paul jumped. Paul won, because he was light. Clara’s blood
was roused. She could run like an Amazon. Paul loved the
determined way she rushed at the hay-cock and leaped,
landed on the other side, her breasts shaken, her thick hair
come undone.
‘You touched!’ he cried. ‘You touched!’
‘No!’ she flashed, turning to Edgar. ‘I didn’t touch, did I?
Wasn’t I clear?’
‘I couldn’t say,’ laughed Edgar.
None of them could say.
‘But you touched,’ said Paul. ‘You’re beaten.’
‘I did NOT touch!’ she cried.
‘As plain as anything,’ said Paul.
‘Box his ears for me!’ she cried to Edgar.
‘Nay,’ Edgar laughed. ‘I daren’t. You must do it yourself.’
‘And nothing can alter the fact that you touched,’ laughed
Paul.
She was furious with him. Her little triumph before

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