"Yes," he replied. "Do you think they'd have the damned cheekto send us away."
"Well, I'm sure," she exclaimed, "they would if they heardyour language."
Her face seemed to shine again with joy and peace duringthe service. And all the time he was wanting to rage and smashthings and cry.
Afterwards, when they were leaning over the wall, looking atthe town below, he blurted suddenly:
"Why can't a man have a YOUNG mother? What is she old for?"
"Well," his mother laughed, "she can scarcely help it."
"And why wasn't I the oldest son? Look--they say the youngones have the advantage--but look, THEY had the young mother.You should have had me for your eldest son."
"I didn't arrange it," she remonstrated. "Come to consider,you're as much to blame as me."
He turned on her, white, his eyes furious.
"What are you old for!" he said, mad with his impotence. "WHY can't you walk? WHY can't you come with me to places?"
"At one time," she replied, "I could have run up that hilla good deal better than you."
"What's the good of that to ME?" he cried, hitting his fiston the wall. Then he became plaintive. "It's too bad of youto be ill. Little, it is--"
"Ill!" she cried. "I'm a bit old, and you'll have to put upwith it, that's all."
They were quiet. But it was as much as they could bear. They gotjolly again over tea. As they sat by Brayford, watching the boats,he told her about Clara. His mother asked him innumerable questions.
"Then who does she live with?"
"With her mother, on Bluebell Hill."
"And have they enough to keep them?"
"I don't think so. I think they do lace work."
"And wherein lies her charm, my boy?"
"I don't know that she's charming, mother. But she's nice. And she seems straight, you know--not a bit deep, not a bit."
"But she's a good deal older than you."
"She's thirty, I'm going on twenty-three."
"You haven't told me what you like her for."
"Because I don't know--a sort of defiant way she's got--a sortof angry way."
Mrs. Morel considered. She would have been glad now for her sonto fall in love with some woman who would--she did not know what. But he fretted so, got so furious suddenly, and again was melancholic. She wished he knew some nice woman-- She did not know what she wished,but left it vague. At any rate, she was not hostile to the ideaof Clara.
Annie, too, was getting married. Leonard had gone away to workin Birmingham. One week-end when he was home she had said to him:
"You don't look very well, my lad."
"I dunno," he said. "I feel anyhow or nohow, ma."
He called her "ma" already in his boyish fashion.
"Are you sure they're good lodgings?" she asked.
"Yes--yes. Only--it's a winder when you have to pour your owntea out--an' nobody to grouse if you team it in your saucer and supit up. It somehow takes a' the taste out of it."
Mrs. Morel laughed.
"And so it knocks you up?" she said.
"I dunno. I want to get married," he blurted, twisting hisfingers and looking down at his boots. There was a silence.
"But," she exclaimed, "I thought you said you'd wait another year."
"Yes, I did say so," he replied stubbornly.
Again she considered.
"And you know," she said, "Annie's a bit of a spendthrift. She's saved no more than eleven pounds. And I know, lad, you haven'thad much chance."
He coloured up to the ears.
"I've got thirty-three quid," he said.
"It doesn't go far," she answered.
He said nothing, but twisted his fingers.
"And you know," she said, "I've nothing---"
"I didn't want, ma!" he cried, very red, suffering and remonstrating.
"No, my lad, I know. I was only wishing I had. And take awayfive pounds for the wedding and things--it leaves twenty-nine pounds. You won't do much on that."
He twisted still, impotent, stubborn, not looking up.
"But do you really want to get married?" she asked. "Do youfeel as if you ought?"
He gave her one straight look from his blue eyes.
"Yes," he said.
"Then," she replied, "we must all do the best we can for it, lad."
The next time he looked up there were tears in his eyes.
"I don't want Annie to feel handicapped," he said, struggling.
"My lad," she said, "you're steady--you've got a decent place. If a man had NEEDED me I'd have married him on his last week's wages. She may find it a bit hard to start humbly. Young girls ARE like that. They look forward to the fine home they think they'll have. But I had expensive furniture. It's not everything."
So the wedding took place almost immediately. Arthur came home,and was splendid in uniform. Annie looked nice in a dove-greydress that she could take for Sundays. Morel called her a foolfor getting married, and was cool with his son-in-law. Mrs. Morelhad white tips in her bonnet, and some white on her blouse,and was teased by both her sons for fancying herself so grand. Leonard was jolly and cordial, and felt a fearful fool. Paul couldnot quite see what Annie wanted to get married for. He was fond of her,and she of him. Still, he hoped rather lugubriously that it wouldturn out all right. Arthur was astonishingly handsome in his scarletand yellow, and he knew it well, but was secretly ashamed of the uniform. Annie cried her eyes up in the kitchen, on leaving her mother. Mrs. Morel cried a little, then patted her on the back and said:
"But don't cry, child, he'll be good to you."
Morel stamped and said she was a fool to go and tie herself up. Leonard looked white and overwrought. Mrs. Morel said to him:
"I s'll trust her to you, my lad, and hold you responsiblefor her."
"You can," he said, nearly dead with the ordeal. And itwas all over.
When Morel and Arthur were in bed, Paul sat talking, as heoften did, with his mother.
"You're not sorry she's married, mother, are you?" he asked.
"I'm not sorry she's married--but--it seems strange that sheshould go from me. It even seems to me hard that she can preferto go with her Leonard. That's how mothers are--I know it's silly."
"And shall you be miserable about her?"
"When I think of my own wedding day," his mother answered,"I can only hope her life will be different."
"But you can trust him to be good to her?"
"Yes, yes. They say he's not good enough for her. But I sayif a man is GENUINE, as he is, and a girl is fond of him--then--itshould be all right. He's as good as she."
"So you don't mind?"
"I would NEVER have let a daughter of mine marry a man I didn'tFEEL to be genuine through and through. And yet, there's a gapnow she's gone."
They were both miserable, and wanted her back again. It seemed to Paul his mother looked lonely, in her new black silkblouse with its bit of white trimming.
"At any rate, mother, I s'll never marry," he said.
"Ay, they all say that, my lad. You've not met the one yet. Only wait a year or two."
"But I shan't marry, mother. I shall live with you, and we'llhave a servant."
"Ay, my lad, it's easy to talk. We'll see when the time comes."
"What time? I'm nearly twenty-three."
"Yes, you're not one that would marry young. But inthree years' time---"
"I shall be with you just the same."
"We'll see, my boy, we'll see."
"But you don't want me to marry?"
"I shouldn't like to think of you going through your lifewithout anybody to care for you and do--no."
"And you think I ought to marry?"
"Sooner or later every man ought."
"But you'd rather it were later."
"It would be hard--and very hard. It's as they say:
"'A son's my son till he takes him a wife, But my daughter's my daughter the whole of her life.'"
"And you think I'd let a wife take me from you?"
"Well, you wouldn't ask her to marry your mother as well as you,"Mrs. Morel smiled.
"She could do what she liked; she wouldn't have to interfere."
"She wouldn't--till she'd got you--and then you'd see."
"I never will see. I'll never marry while I've got you--I won't."
"But I shouldn't like to leave you with nobody, my boy,"she cried.
"You're not going to leave me. What are you? Fifty-three! I'llgive you till seventy-five. There you are, I'm fat and forty-four.Then I'll marry a staid body. See!"
His mother sat and laughed.
"Go to bed," she said--"go to bed."
"And we'll have a pretty house, you and me, and a servant,and it'll be just all right. I s'll perhaps be rich with my painting."
"Will you go to bed!"
"And then you s'll have a pony-carriage. See yourself--a littleQueen Victoria trotting round."
"I tell you to go to bed," she laughed.
He kissed her and went. His plans for the future were alwaysthe same.
Mrs. Morel sat brooding--about her daughter, about Paul,about Arthur. She fretted at losing Annie. The family was veryclosely bound. And she felt she MUST live now, to be with herchildren. Life was so rich for her. Paul wanted her, and so did Arthur. Arthur never knew how deeply he loved her. He was a creatureof the moment. Never yet had he been forced to realise himself. The army had disciplined his body, but not his soul. He was inperfect health and very handsome. His dark, vigorous hair sat closeto his smallish head. There was something childish about his nose,something almost girlish about his dark blue eyes. But he had the funred mouth of a man under his brown moustache, and his jaw was strong. It was his father's mouth; it was the nose and eyes of her own mother'speople--good-looking, weak-principled folk. Mrs. Morel was anxiousabout him. Once he had really run the rig he was safe. But how farwould he go?
The army had not really done him any good. He resentedbitterly the authority of the officers. He hated having to obeyas if he were an animal. But he had too much sense to kick. So he turned his attention to getting the best out of it. He could sing, he was a boon-companion. Often he got into scrapes,but they were the manly scrapes that are easily condoned. So he madea good time out of it, whilst his self-respect was in suppression. He trusted to his good looks and handsome figure, his refinement,his decent education to get him most of what he wanted, and hewas not disappointed. Yet he was restless. Something seemedto gnaw him inside. He was never still, he was never alone. With his mother he was rather humble. Paul he admired and lovedand despised slightly. And Paul admired and loved and despisedhim slightly.
Mrs. Morel had had a few pounds left to her by her father,and she decided to buy her son out of the army. He was wild with joy. Now he was like a lad taking a holiday.
He had always been fond of Beatrice Wyld, and during his furloughhe picked up with her again. She was stronger and better in health. The two often went long walks together, Arthur taking her armin soldier's fashion, rather stiffly. And she came to play thepiano whilst he sang. Then Arthur would unhook his tunic collar. He grew flushed, his eyes were bright, he sang in a manly tenor. Afterwards they sat together on the sofa. He seemed to flaunthis body: she was aware of him so--the strong chest, the sides,the thighs in their close-fitting trousers.
He liked to lapse into the dialect when he talked to her. She would sometimes smoke with him. Occasionally shewould only take a few whiffs at his cigarette.
"Nay," he said to her one evening, when she reachedfor his cigarette. "Nay, tha doesna. I'll gi'e thee a smokekiss if ter's a mind."
"I wanted a whiff, no kiss at all," she answered.
"Well, an' tha s'lt ha'e a whiff," he said, "along wi' t' kiss."
"I want a draw at thy fag," she cried, snatching for thecigarette between his lips.
He was sitting with his shoulder touching her. She was smalland quick as lightning. He just escaped.
"I'll gi'e thee a smoke kiss," he said.
"Tha'rt a knivey nuisance, Arty Morel," she said, sitting back.
"Ha'e a smoke kiss?"
The soldier leaned forward to her, smiling. His face wasnear hers.
"Shonna!" she replied, turning away her head.
He took a draw at his cigarette, and pursed up his mouth,and put his lips close to her. His dark-brown cropped moustachestood out like a brush. She looked at the puckered crimson lips,then suddenly snatched the cigarette from his fingers and darted away. He, leaping after her, seized the comb from her back hair. She turned,threw the cigarette at him. He picked it up, put it in his mouth,and sat down.
"Nuisance!" she cried. "Give me my comb!"
She was afraid that her hair, specially done for him,would come down. She stood with her hands to her head. He hidthe comb between his knees.
"I've non got it," he said.
The cigarette trembled between his lips with laughter as he spoke.
"Liar!" she said.
"'S true as I'm here!" he laughed, showing his hands.
"You brazen imp!" she exclaimed, rushing and scuffling forthe comb, which he had under his knees. As she wrestled with him,pulling at his smooth, tight-covered knees, he laughed till helay back on the sofa shaking with laughter. The cigarette fellfrom his mouth almost singeing his throat. Under his delicate tanthe blood flushed up, and he laughed till his blue eyes were blinded,his throat swollen almost to choking. Then he sat up. Beatrice wasputting in her comb.
