`You know it isn't, mother, you know it isn't!'
She was moved to pity by his cry.
`It looks a great deal like it,' she said, half putting aside her despair.
`No, mother--I really don't love her. I talk to her, but I want to come home to you.'
He had taken off his collar and tie, and rose, bare-throated, to go to bed. As he stooped to kiss his mother, she threw her arms round his neck, hid her face on his shoulder, and cried, in a whimpering voice, so unlike her own that he writhed in agony:
`I can't bear it. I could let another woman--but not her. She'd leave me no room, not a bit of room--'
And immediately he hated Miriam bitterly.
`And I've never--you know, Paul--I've never had a husband--not really--'
He stroked his mother's hair, and his mouth was on her throat.
`And she exults so in taking you from me--she's not like ordinary girls.'
`Well, I don't love her, mother,' he murmured, bowing his head and hiding his eyes on her shoulder in misery. His mother kissed him a long, fervent kiss.
`My boy!' she said, in a voice trembling with passionate love.
Without knowing, he gently stroked her face.
`There,' said his mother, `now go to bed. You'll be so tired in the morning.' As she was speaking she heard her husband coming. `There's your father--now go.' Suddenly she looked at him almost as if in fear. `Perhaps I'm selfish. If you want her, take her, my boy.'
His mother looked so strange, Paul kissed her, trembling.
`Ha--mother!' he said softly.
Morel came in, walking unevenly. His hat was over one corner of his eye. He balanced in the doorway.
`At your mischief again?' he said venomously.
Mrs Morel's emotion turned into sudden hate of the drunkard who had come in thus upon her.
`At any rate, it is sober,' she said.
`H'm--h'm! h'm--h'm!' he sneered. He went into the passage, hung up his hat and coat. Then they heard him go down three steps to the pantry. He returned with a piece of pork-pie in his fist. It was what Mrs Morel had bought for her son.
`Nor was that bought for you. If you can give me no more than twenty-five shillings, I'm sure I'm not going to buy you pork-pie to stuff, after you've swilled a bellyful of beer.'
`Wha-at--wha-at!' snarled Morel, toppling in his balance. `Wha-at--not for me?' He looked at the piece of meat and crust, and suddenly, in a vicious spurt of temper, flung it into the fire.
Paul started to his feet.