Then, when he was twenty-three, his mother died, and he was

left at home with Effie. His mother's death was another blow out

of the dark. He could not understand it, he knew it was no good

his trying. One had to submit to these unforeseen blows that

come unawares and leave a bruise that remains and hurts whenever

it is touched. He began to be afraid of all that which was up

against him. He had loved his mother.

After this, Effie and he quarrelled fiercely. They meant a

very great deal to each other, but they were both under a

strange, unnatural tension. He stayed out of the house as much

as possible. He got a special corner for himself at the "Red

Lion" at Cossethay, and became a usual figure by the fire, a

fresh, fair young fellow with heavy limbs and head held back,

mostly silent, though alert and attentive, very hearty in his

greeting of everybody he knew, shy of strangers. He teased all

the women, who liked him extremely, and he was very attentive to

the talk of the men, very respectful.

To drink made him quickly flush very red in the face, and

brought out the look of self-consciousness and unsureness,

almost bewilderment, in his blue eyes. When he came home in this

state of tipsy confusion his sister hated him and abused him,

and he went off his head, like a mad bull with rage.

He had still another turn with a light-o'-love. One

Whitsuntide he went a jaunt with two other young fellows, on

horseback, to Matlock and thence to Bakewell. Matlock was at

that time just becoming a famous beauty-spot, visited from

Manchester and from the Staffordshire towns. In the hotel where

the young men took lunch, were two girls, and the parties struck

up a friendship.

The Miss who made up to Tom Brangwen, then twenty-four years

old, was a handsome, reckless girl neglected for an afternoon by

the man who had brought her out. She saw Brangwen and liked him,

as all women did, for his warmth and his generous nature, and

for the innate delicacy in him. But she saw he was one who would

have to be brought to the scratch. However, she was roused and

unsatisfied and made mischievous, so she dared anything. It

would be an easy interlude, restoring her pride.

She was a handsome girl with a bosom, and dark hair and blue

eyes, a girl full of easy laughter, flushed from the sun,

inclined to wipe her laughing face in a very natural and taking

manner.

Brangwen was in a state of wonder. He treated her with his

chaffing deference, roused, but very unsure of himself, afraid

to death of being too forward, ashamed lest he might be thought

backward, mad with desire yet restrained by instinctive regard

for women from making any definite approach, feeling all the

while that his attitude was ridiculous, and flushing deep with

confusion. She, however, became hard and daring as he became

confused, it amused her to see him come on.




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