‘Yes, I will.’
‘Good night!’ he said, and, as he held her hand, bent to the lips which were ready.
Emma walked along the passage, and for some distance up the middle of the street. Then she stopped and looked up at one of the black houses. There were lights, more or less curtain-dimmed, in nearly all the windows. Emma regarded a faint gleam in the topmost storey. To that she ascended.
Mutimer walked homewards at a quick step, whistling to himself. A latch-key gave him admission. As he went down the kitchen stairs, he heard his mother’s voice raised in anger, and on opening the door he found that Daniel had departed, and that the supper table was already cleared. Alice, her feet on the fender and her dress raised a little, was engaged in warming herself before going to bed. The object of Mrs. Mutimer’s chastisement was the youngest member of the family, known as ‘Arry; even Richard, who had learnt to be somewhat careful in his pronunciation, could not bestow the aspirate upon his brother’s name. Henry, aged seventeen, promised to do credit to the Mutimers in physical completeness; already he was nearly as tall as his eldest brother; and, even in his lankness, showed the beginnings of well-proportioned vigour. But the shape of his head, which was covered with hair of the lightest hue, did not encourage hope of mental or moral qualities. It was not quite fair to judge his face as seen at present; the vacant grin of half timid, half insolent, resentment made him considerably more simian of visage than was the case under ordinary circumstances. But the features were unpleasant to look upon; it was Richard’s face, distorted and enfeebled with impress of sensual instincts.
‘As long as you live in this house, it shan’t go on,’ his mother was saying. ‘Sunday or Monday, it’s no matter; you’ll be home before eleven o’clock, and you’ll come home sober. You’re no better than a pig!’
‘Arry was seated in a far corner of the room, where he had dropped his body on entering. His attire was such as the cheap tailors turn out in imitation of extreme fashions: trousers closely moulded upon the leg, a huff waistcoat, a short coat with pockets everywhere. A very high collar kept his head up against his will; his necktie was crimson, and passed through a brass ring; he wore a silver watch-chain, or what seemed to be such. One hand was gloved, and a cane lay across his knees. His attitude was one of relaxed muscles, his legs very far apart, his body not quite straight.
‘What d’ you call sober, I’d like to know?’ he replied, with looseness of utterance. ‘I’m as sober ‘s anybody in this room. If a chap can’t go out with ‘s friends ‘t Easter an’ all—?’
‘Easter, indeed! It’s getting to be a regular thing, Saturday and Sunday. Get up and go to bed! I’ll have my say out with you in the morning, young man.’
‘Go to bed!’ repeated the lad with scorn. ‘Tell you I ain’t had no supper.’
Richard had walked to the neighbourhood of the fireplace, and was regarding his brother with anger and contempt. At this point of the dialogue he interfered.