Page 516 - sons-and-lovers

‘I’m sure I shall; I always do,’ he said.
‘Yes; and so you ought at your age,’ she replied.
He bade good-night to Clara, and went. The twisting
stairs of white, scrubbed wood creaked and clanged at ev-
ery step. He went doggedly. The two doors faced each other.
He went in his room, pushed the door to, without fastening
the latch.
It was a small room with a large bed. Some of Clara’s
hair-pins were on the dressing-table—her hair-brush. Her
clothes and some skirts hung under a cloth in a corner.
There was actually a pair of stockings over a chair. He ex-
plored the room. Two books of his own were there on the
shelf. He undressed, folded his suit, and sat on the bed, lis-
tening. Then he blew out the candle, lay down, and in two
minutes was almost asleep. Then click!—he was wide awake
and writhing in torment. It was as if, when he had nearly got
to sleep, something had bitten him suddenly and sent him
mad. He sat up and looked at the room in the darkness, his
feet doubled under him, perfectly motionless, listening. He
heard a cat somewhere away outside; then the heavy, poised
tread of the mother; then Clara’s distinct voice:
‘Will you unfasten my dress?’
There was silence for some time. At last the mother said:
‘Now then! aren’t you coming up?’
‘No, not yet,’ replied the daughter calmly.
‘Oh, very well then! If it’s not late enough, stop a bit lon-
ger. Only you needn’t come waking me up when I’ve got to
sleep.’
‘I shan’t be long,’ said Clara.

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