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I'm not a spider as likes a corner to
myself. I like a man about, if he's only something to snap at."
Clara began to work. Her jenny spun with a subdued buzz; the white
lace hopped from between her fingers on to the card. It was filled; she
snipped off the length, and pinned the end down to the banded lace. Then
she put a new card in her jenny. Paul watched her. She sat square and
magnificent. Her throat and arms were bare. The blood still mantled
below her ears; she bent her head in shame of her humility. Her face was
set on her work. Her arms were creamy and full of life beside the white
lace; her large, well-kept hands worked with a balanced movement, as if
nothing would hurry them. He, not knowing, watched her all the time. He
saw the arch of her neck from the shoulder, as she bent her head; he saw
the coil of dun hair; he watched her moving, gleaming arms.
"I've heard a bit about you from Clara," continued the mother. "You're
in Jordan's, aren't you?" She drew her lace unceasing.
"Yes.


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