Page 492 - sons-and-lovers

jay.’
His mother looked at him; he had turned to her. She
thought what a man he seemed, in his dark, well-made
clothes. He was pale and detached-looking; it would be hard
for any woman to keep him. Her heart glowed; then she was
sorry for Clara.
‘Perhaps you’ll leave your things in the parlour,’ said
Mrs. Morel nicely to the young woman.
‘Oh, thank you,’ she replied.
‘Come on,’ said Paul, and he led the way into the little
front room, with its old piano, its mahogany furniture, its
yellowing marble mantelpiece. A fire was burning; the place
was littered with books and drawing-boards. ‘I leave my
things lying about,’ he said. ‘It’s so much easier.’
She loved his artist’s paraphernalia, and the books, and
the photos of people. Soon he was telling her: this was Wil-
liam, this was William’s young lady in the evening dress,
this was Annie and her husband, this was Arthur and his
wife and the baby. She felt as if she were being taken into
the family. He showed her photos, books, sketches, and they
talked a little while. Then they returned to the kitchen. Mrs.
Morel put aside her book. Clara wore a blouse of fine silk
chiffon, with narrow black-and-white stripes; her hair was
done simply, coiled on top of her head. She looked rather
stately and reserved.
‘You have gone to live down Sneinton Boulevard?’ said
Mrs. Morel. ‘When I was a girl—girl, I say!—when I was a
young woman WE lived in Minerva Terrace.’
‘Oh, did you!’ said Clara. ‘I have a friend in number 6.’

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