Sons and Lovers - Daimon Club

"Do you think so?" he answered. "You see, I am so used to it
I should miss it. No; and I like the pits here and there. I like the
rows of trucks, and the headstocks, and the steam in the daytime,
and the lights at night. When I was a boy, I always thought
a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night was a pit,
with its steam, and its lights, and the burning bank,--and I thought
the Lord was always at the pit-top."
As they drew near home she walked in silence, and seemed
to hang back. He pressed her fingers in his own. She flushed,
but gave no response.
"Don't you want to come home?" he asked.
"Yes, I want to come," she replied.
It did not occur to him that her position in his home would
be rather a peculiar and difficult one. To him it seemed just as if
one of his men friends were going to be introduced to his mother,
only nicer.
The Morels lived in a house in an ugly street that ran down
a steep hill. The street itself was hideous. The house was rather
superior to most. It was old, grimy, with a big bay window, and it
was semi-detached; but it looked gloomy. Then Paul opened the door
to the garden, and all was different. The sunny afternoon was there,
like another land. By the path grew tansy and little trees. In front
of the window was a plot of sunny grass, with old lilacs round it.
And away went the garden, with heaps of dishevelled chrysanthemums
in the sunshine, down to the sycamore-tree, and the field,
and beyond one looked over a few red-roofed cottages to the hills
with all the glow of the autumn afternoon.
Mrs. Morel sat in her rocking-chair, wearing her black
silk blouse. Her grey-brown hair was taken smooth back from her brow
and her high temples; her face was rather pale. Clara, suffering,
followed Paul into the kitchen. Mrs. Morel rose. Clara thought
her a lady, even rather stiff. The young woman was very nervous.
She had almost a wistful look, almost resigned.
"Mother--Clara," said Paul.
Mrs. Morel held out her hand and smiled.
"He has told me a good deal about you," she said.
The blood flamed in Clara's cheek.
"I hope you don't mind my coming," she faltered.