D. H. Lawrence - Premium Collection. D. H. Lawrence

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      “You never counted me. I was a figure naught in the counting all along.”

      “See — there is a chair that will be in the way,” she replied calmly; but she flushed, and bowed her head. She turned away, and he dragged an armful of rugs into a corner.

      When the actors came in, Lettie was moving a vase of flowers. While they played, she sat looking on, smiling, clapping her hands. When it was finished Leslie came and whispered to her, whereon she kissed him unobserved, delighting and exhilarating him more than ever. Then they went out to prepare the next act.

      George did not return to her till she called him to help her. Her colour was high in her cheeks.

      “How do you know you did not count?” she said nervously, unable to resist the temptation to play this forbidden game. He laughed, and for a moment could not find any reply.

      “I do!” he said. “You knew you could have me any day, so you didn’t care.”

      “Then we’re behaving in quite the traditional fashion,” she answered with irony.

      “But you know,” he said, “you began it. You played with me, and showed me heaps of things — and those mornings — when I was binding corn, and when I was gathering the apples, and when I was finishing the straw-stack — you came then — I can never forget those mornings — things will never be the same — You have awakened my life — I imagine things that I couldn’t have done.”

      “Ah! — I am very sorry, I am so sorry.”

      “Don’t be! — don’t say so. But what of me?”

      “What?” she asked rather startled. He smiled again; he felt the situation, and was a trifle dramatic, though deadly in earnest.

      “Well,” said he, “you start me off — then leave me at a loose end. What am I going to do?”

      “You are a man,” she replied.

      He laughed. “What does that mean?” he said contemptuously.

      “You can go on — which way you like,” she answered. “Oh well,” he said, “we’ll see.”

      “Don’t you think so?” she asked, rather anxious.

      “I don’t know — we’ll see,” he replied.

      They went out with some things. In the hall, she turned to him, with a break in her voice, saying, “Oh, I am so sorry — I am so sorry.”

      He said, very low and soft, “Never mind — never mind.”

      She heard the laughter of those preparing the charade. She drew away and went in the drawing-room, saying aloud:

      “Now I think everything is ready — we can sit down now.”

      After the actors had played the last charade, Leslie came and claimed her.

      “Now, Madam — are you glad to have me back?”

      “That I am,” she said. “Don’t leave me again, will you?”

      “I won’t,” he replied, drawing her beside him. “I have left my handkerchief in the dining-room,” he continued; and they went out together.

      Mother gave me permission for the men to smoke.

      “You know,” said Marie to Tom, “I am surprised that a scientist should smoke. Isn’t it a waste of time?”

      “Come and light me,” he said.

      “Nay,” she replied, “let science light you.”

      “Science does — Ah, but science is nothing without a girl to set it going — Yes — Come on — now, don’t burn my precious nose.”

      “Poor George!” cried Alice. “Does he want a ministering angel?”

      He was half lying in a big arm-chair.

      “I do,” he replied. “Come on, be my box of soothing ointment. My matches are all loose.”

      “I’ll strike it on my heel, eh? Now, rouse up, or I shall have to sit on your knee to reach you.”

      “Poor dear — he shall be luxurious,” and the dauntless girl perched on his knee.

      “What if I singe your whiskers — would you send an Armada? Aw — aw — pretty! — You do look sweet — doesn’t he suck prettily?”

      “Do you envy me?” he asked, smiling whimsically. “Ra — ther!”

      “Shame to debar you,” he said, almost with tenderness. “Smoke with me.”

      He offered her the cigarette from his lips. She was surprised, and exceedingly excited by his tender tone. She took the cigarette.

      “I’ll make a heifer — like Mrs Daws,” she said.

      “Don’t call yourself a cow,” he said.

      “Nasty thing — let me go,” she exclaimed.

      “No — you fit me — don’t go,” he replied, holding her.

      “Then you must have growed. Oh — what great hands — let go. Lettie, come and pinch him.”

      “What’s the matter?” asked my sister.

      “He won’t let me go.”

      “He’ll be tired first,” Lettie answered.

      Alice was released, but she did not move. She sat with wrinkled forehead trying his cigarette. She blew out little tiny whiffs of smoke, and thought about it; she sent a small puff down her nostrils, and rubbed her nose.

      “It’s not as nice as it looks,” she said.

      He laughed at her with masculine indulgence.

      “Pretty boy,” she said, stroking his chin.

      “Am I?” he murmured languidly.

      “Cheek!” she cried, and she boxed his ears. Then “Oh, pore fing!” she said, and kissed him.

      She turned round to wink at my mother and at Lettie. She found the latter sitting in the old position with Leslie, two in a chair. He was toying with her arm; holding it and stroking it.

      “Isn’t it lovely?” he said, kissing the forearm, “so warm and yet so white. Io — it reminds one of Io.”

      “Somebody else talking about heifers,” murmured Alice to George.

      “Can you remember,” said Leslie, speaking low, “that man in Merimée who wanted to bite his wife and taste her blood?”

      “I do,” said Lettie. “Have you a strain of wild beast too?”

      “Perhaps,” СКАЧАТЬ