Sons and Lovers - Daimon Club

It was nine o'clock when he got home, falling dark. He entered
the house in silence. His mother, who had been waiting,
rose anxiously.
"I told her," he said.
"I'm glad," replied the mother, with great relief.
He hung up his cap wearily.
"I said we'd have done altogether," he said.
"That's right, my son," said the mother. "It's hard for her now,
but best in the long run. I know. You weren't suited for her."
He laughed shakily as he sat down.
"I've had such a lark with some girls in a pub," he said.
His mother looked at him. He had forgotten Miriam now. He told
her about the girls in the Willow Tree. Mrs. Morel looked at him.
It seemed unreal, his gaiety. At the back of it was too much horror
and misery.
"Now have some supper," she said very gently.
Afterwards he said wistfully:
"She never thought she'd have me, mother, not from the first,
and so she's not disappointed."
"I'm afraid," said his mother, "she doesn't give up hopes
of you yet."
"No," he said, "perhaps not."
"You'll find it's better to have done," she said.
"I don't know," he said desperately.
"Well, leave her alone," replied his mother. So he left her,
and she was alone. Very few people cared for her, and she for very
few people. She remained alone with herself, waiting.