Page 419 - sons-and-lovers

prise.
Paul started, and everything sprang into form, regained
its individuality, its forgetfulness, and its cheerfulness.
They hurried back to work.
When he was in the rush of preparing for the night’s
post, examining the work up from Fanny’s room, which
smelt of ironing, the evening postman came in.
‘Mr. Paul Morel,’’ he said, smiling, handing Paul a pack-
age. ‘A lady’s handwriting! Don’t let the girls see it.’
The postman, himself a favourite, was pleased to make
fun of the girls’ affection for Paul.
It was a volume of verse with a brief note: ‘You will al-
low me to send you this, and so spare me my isolation. I also
sympathise and wish you well.—C.D.’ Paul flushed hot.
‘Good Lord! Mrs. Dawes. She can’t afford it. Good Lord,
who ever’d have thought it!’
He was suddenly intensely moved. He was filled with the
warmth of her. In the glow he could almost feel her as if
she were present—her arms, her shoulders, her bosom, see
them, feel them, almost contain them.
This move on the part of Clara brought them into closer
intimacy. The other girls noticed that when Paul met Mrs.
Dawes his eyes lifted and gave that peculiar bright greet-
ing which they could interpret. Knowing he was unaware,
Clara made no sign, save that occasionally she turned aside
her face from him when he came upon her.
They walked out together very often at dinner-time; it
was quite open, quite frank. Everybody seemed to feel that
he was quite unaware of the state of his own feeling, and

1 Sons and Lovers