he had said the wrong
thing.

"Yes, I know it well--I am old. And therefore I may stand aside; I have
nothing more to do with you. You only want me to wait on you--the rest
is for Miriam."

He could not bear it. Instinctively he realised that he was life to her.
And, after all, she was the chief thing to him, the only supreme thing.

"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 su