Page 52 - sons-and-lovers

After he had sat with his arms on the table—he resented
the fact that Mrs. Bower put no cloth on for him, and gave
him a little plate, instead of a full-sized dinner-plate—he
began to eat. The fact that his wife was ill, that he had an-
other boy, was nothing to him at that moment. He was too
tired; he wanted his dinner; he wanted to sit with his arms
lying on the board; he did not like having Mrs. Bower about.
The fire was too small to please him.
After he had finished his meal, he sat for twenty minutes;
then he stoked up a big fire. Then, in his stockinged feet, he
went reluctantly upstairs. It was a struggle to face his wife
at this moment, and he was tired. His face was black, and
smeared with sweat. His singlet had dried again, soaking
the dirt in. He had a dirty woollen scarf round his throat.
So he stood at the foot of the bed.
‘Well, how are ter, then?’ he asked.
‘I s’ll be all right,’ she answered.
‘H’m!’
He stood at a loss what to say next. He was tired, and this
bother was rather a nuisance to him, and he didn’t quite
know where he was.
‘A lad, tha says,’ he stammered.
She turned down the sheet and showed the child.
‘Bless him!’ he murmured. Which made her laugh, be-
cause he blessed by rote—pretending paternal emotion,
which he did not feel just then.
‘Go now,’ she said.
‘I will, my lass,’ he answered, turning away.
Dismissed, he wanted to kiss her, but he dared not. She

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