Page 588 - sons-and-lovers

insuperable distance. She was proud now.
Morel went to see Dawes once or twice. There was a sort
of friendship between the two men, who were all the while
deadly rivals. But they never mentioned the woman who
was between them.
Mrs. Morel got gradually worse. At first they used to car-
ry her downstairs, sometimes even into the garden. She sat
propped in her chair, smiling, and so pretty. The gold wed-
ding-ring shone on her white hand; her hair was carefully
brushed. And she watched the tangled sunflowers dying,
the chrysanthemums coming out, and the dahlias.
Paul and she were afraid of each other. He knew, and she
knew, that she was dying. But they kept up a pretence of
cheerfulness. Every morning, when he got up, he went into
her room in his pyjamas.
‘Did you sleep, my dear?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she answered.
‘Not very well?’
‘Well, yes! ‘
Then he knew she had lain awake. He saw her hand un-
der the bedclothes, pressing the place on her side where the
pain was.
‘Has it been bad?’ he asked.
‘No. It hurt a bit, but nothing to mention.’
And she sniffed in her old scornful way. As she lay she
looked like a girl. And all the while her blue eyes watched
him. But there were the dark pain-circles beneath that made
him ache again.
‘It’s a sunny day,’ he said.