Page 565 - sons-and-lovers

them. Their train was late. Joking, laughing, with their pipes
between their teeth, the young men swung their bags on to
the tram-car. Paul had bought his mother a little collar of
real lace that he wanted to see her wear, so that he could
tease her about it.
Annie lived in a nice house, and had a little maid. Paul
ran gaily up the steps. He expected his mother laughing in
the hall, but it was Annie who opened to him. She seemed
distant to him. He stood a second in dismay. Annie let him
kiss her cheek.
‘Is my mother ill?’ he said.
‘Yes; she’s not very well. Don’t upset her.’
‘Is she in bed?’
‘Yes.’
And then the queer feeling went over him, as if all the
sunshine had gone out of him, and it was all shadow. He
dropped the bag and ran upstairs. Hesitating, he opened the
door. His mother sat up in bed, wearing a dressing-gown
of old-rose colour. She looked at him almost as if she were
ashamed of herself, pleading to him, humble. He saw the
ashy look about her.
‘Mother!’ he said.
‘I thought you were never coming,’ she answered gaily.
But he only fell on his knees at the bedside, and buried
his face in the bedclothes, crying in agony, and saying:
‘Mother—mother—mother!’
She stroked his hair slowly with her thin hand.
‘Don’t cry,’ she said. ‘Don’t cry—it’s nothing.’
But he felt as if his blood was melting into tears, and he

Sons and Lovers