`You mean you should do what you're reckoning to do,' replied Annie.
`He should, shouldn't he!' cried Beatrice.
`I s'd think he'd got plenty on hand,' said Leonard.
`You had a nasty walk, didn't you, Miriam?' said Annie.
`Yes--but I'd been in all week--'
`And you wanted a bit of a change, like,' insinuated Leonard kindly.
`Well, you can't be stuck in the house for ever,' Annie agreed. She was quite amiable. Beatrice pulled on her coat, and went out with Leonard and Annie. She would meet her own boy.
`Don't forget that bread, our Paul,' cried Annie. `Good night, Miriam. I don't think it will rain.'
When they had all gone, Paul fetched the swathed loaf, unwrapped it, and surveyed it sadly.
`It's a mess!' he said.
`But,' answered Miriam impatiently, `what is it, after all--twopence ha'penny.'
`Yes, but--it's the mater's precious baking, and she'll take it to heart. However, it's no good bothering.'
He took the loaf back into the scullery. There was a little distance between him and Miriam. He stood balanced opposite her for some moments considering, thinking of his behaviour with Beatrice. He felt guilty inside himself, and yet glad. For some inscrutable reason it served Miriam right. He was not going to repent. She wondered what he was thinking of as he stood suspended. His thick hair was tumbled over his forehead. Why might she not push it back for him, and remove the marks of Beatrice's comb? Why might she not press his body with her two hands? It looked so firm, and every whit living. And he would let other girls, why not her?
Suddenly he started into life. It made her quiver almost with terror as he quickly pushed the hair off his forehead and came towards her.
`Half-past eight!' he said. `We'd better buck up. Where's your French?'
Miriam shyly and rather bitterly produced her exercise-book. Every week she wrote for him a sort of diary of her inner life, in her own French. He had found this was the only way to get her to do compositions. And her diary was mostly a love-letter. He would read it now; she felt as if her soul's history were going to be desecrated by him in his present mood. He sat beside her. She watched his hand, firm and warm, rigorously scoring her work. He was reading only the French, ignoring her soul that was there. But gradually his hand forgot its work. He read in silence, motionless. She quivered.
` "Ce matin les oiseaux m'ont éveillé," ' he read. ` "Il faisait encore un crépuscule. Mais la petite fenêtre de ma chambre était blême, et puis, jaûne, et tous les oiseaux du bois éclatèrent dans un chanson vit et résonnant. Toute l'aube tressaillit. J'avais rêvé de vous. Est-ce que vous voyez aussi l'aube? Les oiseaux m'éveillent presque tous les matins, et toujours il y a quelque chose de terreur dans le cri des grives. Il est si clair-- " '
Miriam sat tremulous, half ashamed. He remained quite still, trying to understand. He only knew she loved him. He was afraid of her love for him. It was too good for him, and he was inadequate. His own love was at fault, not hers. Ashamed, he corrected her work, humbly writing above her words.