31
Money. That was why nothing had been done. “The doctor” had to be afforded as she was so ill, but nothing had been done. Borrow from the boys to take her away. “A bright place and a cool breeze.” She dreamed of things—far-away impossible things. Had she told the others she wanted them? They must be told. To-morrow she should know she was going away. Nothing else in life mattered. Someone must pay, anyone. Newlands must go. To-morrow and every day till they went away she should come round to Harriett’s new house. Something for her to do every day.
The little bonneted figure ... happy, shocked, smiling. To go about with her, telling her everything, dreadful things. The two of them going about and talking and not talking, and going about.
32
Miriam moved uneasily to the mantelpiece. An unlit fire was laid neatly in the grate. A ray of sunlight struck the black bars of the grate; false uneasy sunlight. Two strange round-bowled long-necked vases stood on the mantelpiece amongst the litter of Bob’s belongings. Dull blue and green enamellings moving on a dark almost black background ... strange fine little threads of gold.... She peered at them.
“My dear girl, do you like my vases?” Bob came and stood at her side.
“Yes—they’re funny and queer. I like them.”
“They’re clawzonny—Japanese clawzonny.” He took one of them up and tapped it with his nail. It gave out a curious dull metallic ring. Miriam passed her finger over the enamelled surface. It was softly smooth and with no chill about it; as if the enamel were alive. She marvelled at the workmanship, wondering how the gold wires were introduced. They gleamed, veining over the curves of the vase.
Her uneasiness had gone. While they were looking at the vases it did not seem to matter that she had consented, defying the whole world, to come and see Bob’s bachelor chambers. She did not like them and wanted to be gone. The curious dingy dustiness oppressed her, and there was an emptiness. Fancy having breakfast in a room like this. Who looked after a man’s washing when he lived alone? There must be some dreadful sort of charwoman who came, and Bob had to speak kindly to her in his weary old voice and go on day after day being here. But the vases stood there alive and beautiful and he liked them. She turned to see his liking in his face. As she turned his arm came round her shoulders and the angle of his shoulder softly touched her head. Behind her head there was a point of perfect rest; comfort, perfect. Australia; a young man in shirt-sleeves, toiling and dreaming. Was that there still in his face?
“Are you happy, dear girl? Do you like being with old Bob in his den?”
He came nearer and spoke with a soft husky whisper.
“Let me go,” said Miriam wearily, longing to rest, longing for the stairs they had come up and the open street in the sunshine and freedom.
She moved away and gathered up her gloves and scarf.