Page 413 - sons-and-lovers

ly tender. She was thirty-nine. ‘No, my duck, because you
don’t think yourself a fine figure in marble and us nothing
but dirt. I’m as good as you, aren’t I, Paul?’ and the question
delighted her.
‘Why, we’re not better than one another, are we?’ he re-
plied.
‘But I’m as good as you, aren’t I, Paul?’ she persisted dar-
ingly.
‘Of course you are. If it comes to goodness, you’re bet-
ter.’
She was rather afraid of the situation. She might get hys-
terical.
‘I thought I’d get here before the others—won’t they say
I’m deep! Now shut your eyes—-’ she said.
‘And open your mouth, and see what God sends you,’ he
continued, suiting action to words, and expecting a piece of
chocolate. He heard the rustle of the apron, and a faint clink
of metal. ‘I’m going to look,’ he said.
He opened his eyes. Fanny, her long cheeks flushed,
her blue eyes shining, was gazing at him. There was a little
bundle of paint-tubes on the bench before him. He turned
pale.
‘No, Fanny,’ he said quickly.
‘From us all,’ she answered hastily.
‘No, but—-‘
‘Are they the right sort?’ she asked, rocking herself with
delight.
‘Jove! they’re the best in the catalogue.’
‘But they’re the right sorts?’ she cried.

1 Sons and Lovers