The Rainbow

"Yes."

"I suppose you've been to see the queen?"

"Yes, I have."

"Oh, and what had she to say?"

"She said--she said--'You won't dirty your nice

white frock."' He gave her the nicest bits from his plate, putting them into

her red, moist mouth. And he would make on a piece of

bread-and-butter a bird, out of jam: which she ate with

extraordinary relish.

After the tea-things were washed up, the woman went away,

leaving the family free. Usually Brangwen helped in the bathing

of the children. He held long discussions with his child as she

sat on his knee and he unfastened her clothes. And he seemed to

be talking really of momentous things, deep moralities. Then

suddenly she ceased to hear, having caught sight of a glassie

rolled into a corner. She slipped away, and was in no hurry to

return.

"Come back here," he said, waiting. She became absorbed,

taking no notice.

"Come on," he repeated, with a touch of command.

An excited little chuckle came from her, but she pretended to

be absorbed.

"Do you hear, Milady?"

She turned with a fleeting, exulting laugh. He rushed on her,

and swept her up.

"Who was it that didn't come!" he said, rolling her between

his strong hands, tickling her. And she laughed heartily,

heartily. She loved him that he compelled her with his strength

and decision. He was all-powerful, the tower of strength which

rose out of her sight.

When the children were in bed, sometimes Anna and he sat and

talked, desultorily, both of them idle. He read very little.

Anything he was drawn to read became a burning reality to him,

another scene outside his window. Whereas Anna skimmed through a

book to see what happened, then she had enough.

Therefore they would often sit together, talking desultorily.

What was really between them they could not utter. Their words

were only accidents in the mutual silence. When they talked,

they gossiped. She did not care for sewing.

She had a beautiful way of sitting musing, gratefully, as if

her heart were lit up. Sometimes she would turn to him,

laughing, to tell him some little thing that had happened during

the day. Then he would laugh, they would talk awhile, before the

vital, physical silence was between them again.

She was thin but full of colour and life. She was perfectly

happy to do just nothing, only to sit with a curious, languid

dignity, so careless as to be almost regal, so utterly

indifferent, so confident. The bond between them was

undefinable, but very strong. It kept everyone else at a

distance.

His face never changed whilst she knew him, it only became

more intense. It was ruddy and dark in its abstraction, not very

human, it had a strong, intent brightness. Sometimes, when his

eyes met hers, a yellow flash from them caused a darkness to

swoon over her consciousness, electric, and a slight strange

laugh came on his face. Her eyes would turn languidly, then

close, as if hypnotized. And they lapsed into the same potent

darkness. He had the quality of a young black cat, intent,

unnoticeable, and yet his presence gradually made itself felt,

stealthily and powerfully took hold of her. He called, not to

her, but to something in her, which responded subtly, out of her

unconscious darkness.