Page 636 - sons-and-lovers

‘That’s it.’
She looked up at him, and her eyes dilated with anger.
‘Then,’ she said, ‘if it’s true, it’s a great shame.’
‘It is. But I don’t know everything,’ he answered.
After supper they drew up to the fire. He swung her a
chair facing him, and they sat down. She was wearing a
dress of dark claret colour, that suited her dark complex-
ion and her large features. Still, the curls were fine and free,
but her face was much older, the brown throat much thin-
ner. She seemed old to him, older than Clara. Her bloom of
youth had quickly gone. A sort of stiffness, almost of wood-
enness, had come upon her. She meditated a little while,
then looked at him.
‘And how are things with you?’ she asked.
‘About all right,’ he answered.
She looked at him, waiting.
‘Nay,’ she said, very low.
Her brown, nervous hands were clasped over her knee.
They had still the lack of confidence or repose, the almost
hysterical look. He winced as he saw them. Then he laughed
mirthlessly. She put her fingers between her lips. His slim,
black, tortured body lay quite still in the chair. She suddenly
took her finger from her mouth and looked at him.
‘And you have broken off with Clara?’
‘Yes.’
His body lay like an abandoned thing, strewn in the
chair.
‘You know,’ she said, ‘I think we ought to be married.’
He opened his eyes for the first time since many months,