Rachel gazed at him.  Despite his beard, he appeared to her as a big schoolboy, blundering about in the world, a sort of leviathan puppy in earnest.  She liked him, on account of an occasional wistful expression in his eyes, and because she had been kind to him during his fearful visit to Bycars.  She even admired him, for his cruel honesty and force.  At the same time, he excited her compassion to an acute degree.  As she gazed at him the tears were ready to start from her eyes.  What she had seen, and what she had heard of the new existence which he was organizing for himself made her feel sick with pity.  But mingled with her pity was a sharp disdain.  The idea of Julian talking about cleanliness, dust-traps, and rationality gave her a desire to laugh and cry at once.  All the stolid and yet wary conservatism of her character revolted against meals at odd hours, brown bread, apples, orange-sucking, action of the skin, male cooking, camp-beds, the frowsiness of casual charwomen, bare heads, and especially bare windows.  If Rachel had been absolutely free to civilize Julian’s life, she would have begun by measuring the bay-window.

She said firmly—­

“I must say I don’t agree with you about curtains.”

His gestures of impatience were almost violent; but she would not flinch.

“Don’t ye?”

“No.”

“Straight?”

She nodded.

He drew breath.  “Well, I’ll get some—­if it’ll satisfy you.”

His surrender was intensely dramatic to her.  It filled her with happiness, with a consciousness of immense power.  She thought:  “I can influence him.  I alone can influence him.  Unless I look after him his existence will be dreadful—­dreadful.”

“You’d much better let me buy them for you.”  She smiled persuasively.

“Have it your own way!” he said gloomily.  “Just come along up here.”

He led her up to the top of the street.

“Ye’ll see what I live up here for,” he muttered as they approached the summit.

The other half of the world lay suddenly at their feet as they capped the brow, but it was obscured by mist and cloud.  The ragged downward road was lost in the middle distance amid vaporous grey-greens and earthy browns.

“No go!” he exclaimed crossly.  “Not clear enough!  But on a fine day ye can see Axe and Axe Edge....  Finest view in the Five Towns.”

The shrill cries of the footballers reached them.

“What a pity!” she sympathized eagerly.  “I’m sure it must be splendid.”  His situation seemed extraordinarily tragic to her.  His short hair, ruffled by the keen wind, was just like a boy’s hair and somehow the sight of it touched her deeply.

He put his hands far into his pockets and drummed one foot on the ground.

“What brought ye up here?” he demanded, with his eyes on an invisible town of Axe.

She opened her hand-bag.

“I came to bring you this,” she said, and offered him an envelope, which he took, wonderingly.