Morel flushed.
"I am sure I am not mean about her. She may be quite as you say, but--"
"You don't approve," he finished.
"And do you expect me to?" she answered coldly.
"Yes!--yes!--if you'd anything about you, you'd be glad! Do you WANT to
see her?"
"I said I did."
"Then I'll bring her--shall I bring her here?"
"You please yourself."
"Then I WILL bring her here--one Sunday--to tea. If you think a horrid
thing about her, I shan't forgive you."
His mother laughed.
"As if it would make any difference!" she said. He knew he had won.
"Oh, but it feels so fine, when she's there! She's such a queen in her
way."
Occasionally he still walked a little way from chapel with Miriam and
Edgar. He did not go up to the farm. She, however, was very much the
same with him, and he did not feel embarrassed in her presence. One
evening she was alone when he accompanied her. They began by talking
books: it was their unfailing topic. Mrs. Morel had said that his and
Miriam's affair was like a fire fed on books--if there were no more
volumes it would die out.
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