Chapter 7

CHAPTER VII

LAD-AND-GIRL LOVE

PAUL had been many times up to Willey Farm during the autumn.
He was friends with the two youngest boys. Edgar the eldest, would not
condescend at first. And Miriam also refused to be approached.
She was afraid of being set at nought, as by her own brothers.
The girl was romantic in her soul. Everywhere was a Walter Scott
heroine being loved by men with helmets or with plumes in their caps.
She herself was something of a princess turned into a swine-girl
in her own imagination. And she was afraid lest this boy,
who, nevertheless, looked something like a Walter Scott hero,
who could paint and speak French, and knew what algebra meant,
and who went by train to Nottingham every day, might consider her
simply as the swine-girl, unable to perceive the princess beneath;
so she held aloof.

Her great companion was her mother. They were both brown-eyed,
and inclined to be mystical, such women as treasure religion
inside them, breathe it in their nostrils, and see the whole of life
in a mist thereof. So to Miriam, Christ and God made one great figure,
which she loved tremblingly and passionately when a tremendous sunset
burned out the western sky, and Ediths, and Lucys, and Rowenas, Brian de
Bois Guilberts, Rob Roys, and Guy Mannerings, rustled the sunny leaves
in the morning, or sat in her bedroom aloft, alone, when it snowed.
That was life to her. For the rest, she drudged in the house,
which work she would not have minded had not her clean red floor been
mucked up immediately by the trampling farm-boots of her brothers.
She madly wanted her little brother of four to let her swathe
him and stifle him in her love; she went to church reverently,
with bowed head, and quivered in anguish from the vulgarity of the
other choir-girls and from the common-sounding voice of the curate;
she fought with her brothers, whom she considered brutal louts;
and she held not her father in too high esteem because he did not
carry any mystical ideals cherished in his heart, but only wanted
to have as easy a time as he could, and his meals when he was ready
for them.

She hated her position as swine-girl. She wanted to be considered.
She wanted to learn, thinking that if she could read, as Paul said
he could read, "Colomba", or the "Voyage autour de ma Chambre", the
world would have a different face for her and a deepened respect.
She could not be princess by wealth or standing. So she was mad
to have learning whereon to pride herself. For she was different
from other folk, and must not be scooped up among the common fry.
Learning was the only distinction to which she thought to aspire.

Her beauty--that of a shy, wild, quiveringly sensitive
thing--seemed nothing