Page 89 - sons-and-lovers

‘Nice scent! Smell.’
And he thrust the sheet under Paul’s nose.
‘Um!’ said Paul, breathing in. ‘What d’you call it? Smell,
mother.’
His mother ducked her small, fine nose down to the pa-
per.
‘I don’t want to smell their rubbish,’ she said, sniffing.
‘This girl’s father,’ said William, ‘is as rich as Croesus.
He owns property without end. She calls me Lafayette, be-
cause I know French. ‘You will see, I’ve forgiven you’—I like
HER forgiving me. ‘I told mother about you this morning,
and she will have much pleasure if you come to tea on Sun-
day, but she will have to get father’s consent also. I sincerely
hope he will agree. I will let you know how it transpires. If,
however, you—-’’
‘Let you know how it’ what?’ interrupted Mrs. Morel.
‘Transpires’—oh yes!’
‘Transpires!’’ repeated Mrs. Morel mockingly. ‘I thought
she was so well educated!’
William felt slightly uncomfortable, and abandoned this
maiden, giving Paul the corner with the thistles. He contin-
ued to read extracts from his letters, some of which amused
his mother, some of which saddened her and made her anx-
ious for him.
‘My lad,’ she said, ‘they’re very wise. They know they’ve
only got to flatter your vanity, and you press up to them like
a dog that has its head scratched.’
‘Well, they can’t go on scratching for ever,’ he replied.
‘And when they’ve done, I trot away.’

Sons and Lovers