`Fetch me a drop of water in a bowl,' he said to her. `I shall be late, and then I s'll catch it.'
He lighted the hurricane lamp, took off his coat, turned up the bicycle, and set speedily to work. Miriam came with the bowl of water and stood close to him, watching. She loved to see his hands doing things. He was slim and vigorous, with a kind of easiness even in his most hasty movements. And busy at his work, he seemed to forget her. She loved him absorbedly. She wanted to run her hands down his sides. She always wanted to embrace him, so long as he did not want her.
`There!' he said, rising suddenly. `Now, could you have done it quicker?'
`No!' she laughed.
He straightened himself. His back was towards her. She put her two hands on his sides, and ran them quickly down.
`You are so fine!' she said.
He laughed, hating her voice, but his blood roused to a wave of flame by her hands. She did not seem to realize him in all this. He might have been an object. She never realized the male he was.
He lighted his bicycle-lamp, bounced the machine on the barn floor to see that the tyres were sound, and buttoned his coat.
`That's all right!' he said.
She was trying the brakes, that she knew were broken.
`Did you have them mended?' she asked.
`No!'
`But why didn't you?'
`The back one goes on a bit.'
`But it's not safe.'
`I can use my toe.'
`I wish you'd had them mended,' she murmured.
`Don't worry--come to tea tomorrow, with Edgar.'
`Shall we?'
`Do--about four. I'll come to meet you.'
`Very well.'
She was pleased. They went across the dark yard to the gate. Looking across, he saw through the uncurtained window of the kitchen the heads of Mr and Mrs Leivers in the warm glow. It looked very cosy. The road, with pine-trees, was quite black in front.
`Till tomorrow,' he said, jumping on his bicycle.
`You'll take care, won't you?' she pleaded.