The Rainbow

The girl started, turned round, her eyes lit up with an

almost painful flash of a smile, the colour came deeply in her

cheeks.

"Yes, it was," she said, quite meaninglessly, and she covered

her rather prominent teeth with her lips. Then she sat looking

straight before her, seeing nothing, only conscious of the

colour burning in her cheeks.

It pricked him with a pleasant sensation. His veins and his

nerves attended to her, she was so young and palpitating.

"It's not such a good programme as last week's," he said.

Again she half turned her face to him, and her clear, bright

eyes, bright like shallow water, filled with light, frightened,

yet involuntarily lighting and shaking with response.

"Oh, isn't it! I wasn't able to come last week."

He noted the common accent. It pleased him. He knew what

class she came of. Probably she was a warehouse-lass. He was

glad she was a common girl.

He proceeded to tell her about the last week's programme. She

answered at random, very confusedly. The colour burned in her

cheek. Yet she always answered him. The girl on the other side

sat remotely, obviously silent. He ignored her. All his address

was for his own girl, with her bright, shallow eyes and her

vulnerably opened mouth.

The talk went on, meaningless and random on her part, quite

deliberate and purposive on his. It was a pleasure to him to

make this conversation, an activity pleasant as a fine game of

chance and skill. He was very quiet and pleasant-humoured, but

so full of strength. She fluttered beside his steady pressure of

warmth and his surety.

He saw the performance drawing to a close. His senses were

alert and wilful. He would press his advantages. He followed her

and her plain friend down the stairs to the street. It was

raining.

"It's a nasty night," he said. "Shall you come and have a

drink of something--a cup of coffee--it's early

yet."

"Oh, I don't think so," she said, looking away into the

night.

"I wish you would," he said, putting himself as it were at

her mercy. There was a moment's pause.

"Come to Rollins?" he said.

"No--not there."

"To Carson's, then?"

There was a silence. The other girl hung on. The man was the

centre of positive force.

"Will your friend come as well?"

There was another moment of silence, while the other girl

felt her ground.

"No, thanks," she said. "I've promised to meet a friend."

"Another time, then?" he said.

"Oh, thanks," she replied, very awkward.

"Good night," he said.

"See you later," said his girl to her friend.

"Where?" said the friend.

"You know, Gertie," replied his girl.

"All right, Jennie."

The friend was gone into the darkness. He turned with his

girl to the tea-shop. They talked all the time. He made his

sentences in sheer, almost muscular pleasure of exercising

himself with her. He was looking at her all the time, perceiving

her, appreciating her, finding her out, gratifying himself with

her. He could see distinct attractions in her; her eyebrows,

with their particular curve, gave him keen aesthetic pleasure.

Later on he would see her bright, pellucid eyes, like shallow

water, and know those. And there remained the open, exposed

mouth, red and vulnerable. That he reserved as yet. And all the

while his eyes were on the girl, estimating and handling with

pleasure her young softness. About the girl herself, who or what

she was, he cared nothing, he was quite unaware that she was

anybody. She was just the sensual object of his attention.