er the exterior porch. The draught
from the shiny dark street and square struck cold, and Edwin
responsively sneezed; and Darius Clayhanger upbraided him for not having
worn his overcoat, and he replied with foolish unconvincingness that he
had got a cold, that it was nothing. Darius grunted his way into the
cubicle. Edwin remained in busy idleness at the right-hand counter;
Stifford was tidying the contents of drawers behind the fancy-counter.
And the fizzing gas-burners, inevitable accompaniment of night at the
period, kept watch above. Under the heat of the stove, the damp marks
of Darius Clayhanger's entrance disappeared more quickly than the
minutes ran. It grew almost impossible for Edwin to pass the time. At
moments when his father was not stirring in the cubicle, and Stifford
happened to be in repose, he could hear the ticking of the clock, which
he could not remember ever having heard before, except when he mounted
the steps to wind it.

At a quarter to seven he said to himself that he gave up hope, while
pretending that he never had hoped, and that Hilda's presence was
indifferent to him. If she came not that day she would probably come
some other day. What could it matter? He was very unhappy. He said to
himself that he should have a long night's reading, but the prospect of
reading had no savour. He said: "No, I shan't go in to see them
to-night, I shall stay in and nurse my cold, and read." This was mere
futile bravado, for the impartial spectator in him, though far less
clear-sighted and judicial now than formerly, foresaw with certainty
that if Hilda did not come he would call at the Orgreaves'. At five
minutes to seven he was miserable: he had decided to hope until five
minutes to seven. He made it seven in despair. Then there were signs
of a figure behind the misty glass of the door. The door opened. It
could not be she! Impossible that it should be she! But it was she;
she had the air of being a miracle.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

TWO.

His feelings were complex and contradictory, flitting about and crossing
each other in his mind with astounding rapidity. He wished she had not
come, because his father was there, and the thought of his father would
intensify his self-consciousness. He wondered why he should care
whether she came or not; after all she was only a young woman who wanted
to see a printing works; at best she was not so