Complete Works. D. H. LawrenceЧитать онлайн книгу.
think we was two dirty little ‘uns,” said the younger lad, laughing.
“They’ll ‘appen ‘a done before we get up ter th’ top,” added the elder boy, “an’ they’ll none venture down th’ shaft.”
“If they did,” put in the other, “you’d ha’e ter bath ’em after. I’d gi’e ’em a bit o’ my pasty.”
“Come on,” said the elder sulkily.
They tramped off, slurring their heavy boots.
“Merry Christmas!” I called after them.
“In th’ mornin’,” replied the elder.
“Same to you,” said the younger, and he began to sing with a tinge of bravado.
“In the fields with their flocks abiding. They lay on the dewy ground —”
“Fancy,” said Lettie, “those boys are working for me!” We were all going to the party at Highclose. I happened to go into the kitchen about half-past seven. The lamp was turned low, and Rebecca sat in the shadows. On the table, in the light of the lamp, I saw a glass vase with five or six very beautiful Christmas roses.
“Hullo, Becka, who’s sent you these?” said I.
“They’re not sent,”. replied Rebecca from the depth of the shadow, with suspicion of tears in her voice.
“Why! I never saw them in the garden.”
“Perhaps not. But I’ve watched them these three weeks, and kept them under glass.”
“For Christmas? They are beauties. I thought someone must have sent them to you.”
“It’s little as ‘as ever been sent me,” replied Rebecca, “an’ less as will be.”
“Why — what’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Who’m I, to have anything the matter! Nobody — nor ever was, nor ever will be. And I’m getting old as well.”
“Something’s upset you, Becky.”
“What does it matter if it has? What are my feelings? A bunch o’ fal-derol flowers as a gardener clips off wi’ never a thought is preferred before mine as I’ve fettled after this three-week. I can sit at home to keep my flowers company — nobody wants ’em.”
I remembered that Lettie was wearing hot-house flowers; she was excited and full of the idea of the party at Highclose; I could imagine her quick “Oh no, thank you, Rebecca. I have had a spray sent to me —”
“Never mind, Becky,” said I, “she is excited tonight.”
“An’ I’m easy forgotten.”
“So are we all, Becky — tant mieux.”
At Highclose Lettie made a stir. Among the little belles of the countryside, she was decidedly the most distinguished. She was brilliant, moving as if in a drama. Leslie was enraptured, ostentatious in his admiration, proud of being so well infatuated. They looked into each other’s eyes when they met, both triumphant, excited, blazing arch looks at one another. Lettie was enjoying her public demonstration immensely; it exhilarated her into quite a vivid love for him. He was magnificent in response. Meanwhile, the honoured lady of the house, pompous and ample, sat aside with my mother conferring her patronage on the latter amiable little woman, who smiled sardonically and watched Lettie. It was a splendid party; it was brilliant, it was dazzling.
I danced with several ladies, and honourably kissed each under the mistletoe — except that two of them kissed me first, it was all done in a most correct manner.
“You wolf,” said Miss Wookey archly. “I believe you are a wolf — a veritable rôdeur des femmes — and you look such a lamb too — such a dear.”
“Even my bleat reminds you of Mary’s pet.”
“But you are not my pet — at least — it is well that my Golaud doesn’t hear you —”
“If he is so very big —” said I.
“He is really; he’s beefy. I’ve engaged myself to him, somehow or other. One never knows how one does those things, do they?”
“I couldn’t speak from experience,” said I.
“Cruel man! I suppose I felt Christmasy, and I’d just been reading Maeterlinck — and he really is big.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Oh — He, of course. My Golaud. I can’t help admiring men who are a bit avoirdupoisy. It is unfortunate they can’t dance.”
“Perhaps fortunate,” said I.
“I can see you hate him. Pity I didn’t think to ask him if he danced — before —”
“Would it have influenced you very much?”
“Well — of course — one can be free to dance all the more with the really nice men whom one never marries.”
“Why not?”
“Oh — you can only marry one —”
“Of course.”
“There he is — he’s coming for me! Oh, Frank, you leave me to the tender mercies of the world at large. I thought you’d forgotten me, dear.”
“I thought the same,” replied her Golaud, a great fat fellow with a childish bare face. He smiled awesomely, and one never knew what he meant to say.
We drove home in the early Christmas morning. Lettie, warmly wrapped in her cloak, had had a little stroll with her lover in the shrubbery. She was still brilliant, flashing in her movements. He, as he bade her good-bye, was almost beautiful in his grace and his low musical tone. I nearly loved him myself. She was very fond towards him. As we came to the gate where the private road branched from the highroad, we heard John say “Thank you”— and looking out, saw our two boys returning from the pit. They were very grotesque in the dark nights as the lamplight fell on them, showing them grimy, flecked with bits of snow. They shouted merrily, their good wishes. Lettie leaned out and waved to them, and they cried “‘ooray!” Christmas came in with their acclamations.
Chapter 9
Lettie Comes of Age
Lettie was twenty-one on the day after Christmas. She woke me in the morning with cries of dismay. There was a great fall of snow, multiplying the cold morning light, startling the slow-footed twilight. The lake was black like the open eyes of a corpse; the woods were black like the beard on the face of a corpse. A rabbit bobbed out, and floundered in much consternation; little birds settled into the depth, and rose in a dusty whirr, much terrified at the universal treachery of the earth. The snow was eighteen inches deep, and drifted in places.
“They will never come!” lamented Lettie, for it was the day of her party.
“At any rate — Leslie will,” said I.
“One!” she exclaimed.
“That one is all, isn’t it?” said I. “And for sure George will come, though I’ve not seen him this fortnight. He’s not been in one night, they say, for a fortnight.”
“Why not?”
“I cannot say.”
Lettie went away to ask Rebecca for the fiftieth time if she thought they would come. At any rate, the extra woman-help came.
It was not more than ten o’clock when Leslie arrived, ruddy, with shining eyes, laughing like a boy. There was much stamping in the porch, and knocking of leggings with his stick, and crying of Lettie