Sons and Lovers - Daimon Club

"Then excuse me a moment."
He went out to the kitchen.
Miriam took off her things and looked round. It was a bare,
severe room. Her photo, Clara's, Annie's, were on the wall.
She looked on the drawing-board to see what he was doing.
There were only a few meaningless lines. She looked to see
what books he was reading. Evidently just an ordinary novel.
The letters in the rack she saw were from Annie, Arthur, and from
some man or other she did not know. Everything he had touched,
everything that was in the least personal to him, she examined
with lingering absorption. He had been gone from her for so long,
she wanted to rediscover him, his position, what he was now.
But there was not much in the room to help her. It only made her feel
rather sad, it was so hard and comfortless.
She was curiously examining a sketch-book when he returned
with the coffee.
"There's nothing new in it," he said, "and nothing
very interesting."
He put down the tray, and went to look over her shoulder.
She turned the pages slowly, intent on examining everything.
"H'm!" he said, as she paused at a sketch. "I'd forgotten that.
It's not bad, is it?"
"No," she said. "I don't quite understand it."
He took the book from her and went through it. Again he made
a curious sound of surprise and pleasure.
"There's some not bad stuff in there," he said.
"Not at all bad," she answered gravely.
He felt again her interest in his work. Or was it for himself?
Why was she always most interested in him as he appeared in his work?
They sat down to supper.
"By the way," he said, "didn't I hear something about your
earning your own living?"
"Yes," she replied, bowing her dark head over her cup.
"And what of it?"
"I'm merely going to the farming college at Broughton for
three months, and I shall probably be kept on as a teacher there."