`Is there nobody else to talk to?'
`You wouldn't say anything if I went with Edgar.'
`You know I should. You know, whoever you went with, I should say it was too far for you to go trailing, late at night, when you've been to Nottingham. Besides'--her voice suddenly flashed into anger and contempt--`it is disgusting--bits of lads and girls courting.'
`It is not courting,' he cried.
`I don't know what else you call it.'
`It's not! Do you think we spoon and do? We only talk.'
`Till goodness knows what time and distance,' was the sarcastic rejoinder.
Paul snapped at the laces of his boots angrily.
`What are you so mad about?' he asked. `Because you don't like her.'
`I don't say I don't like her. But I don't hold with children keeping company, and never did.'
`But you don't mind our Annie going out with Jim Inger.'
`They've more sense than you two.'
`Why?'
`Our Annie's not one of the deep sort.'
He failed to see the meaning of this remark. But his mother looked tired. She was never so strong after William's death; and her eyes hurt her.
`Well,' he said, `it's so pretty in the country. Mr Sleath asked about you. He said he'd missed you. Are you a bit better?'
`I ought to have been in bed a long time ago,' she replied.
`Why, mother, you know you wouldn't have gone before quarter-past ten.'
`Oh yes, I should!'
`Oh, little woman, you'd say anything now you're disagreeable with me, wouldn't you?'
He kissed her forehead that he knew so well: the deep marks between the brows, the rising of the fine hair, greying now, and the proud setting of the temples. His hand lingered on her shoulder after his kiss. Then he went slowly to bed. He had forgotten Miriam; he only saw how his mother's hair was lifted back from her warm, broad brow. And somehow, she was hurt.
Then the next time he saw Miriam he said to her:
`Don't let me be late tonight--not later than ten o'clock. My mother gets so upset.'
Miriam dropped her head, brooding.
`Why does she get upset?' she asked.