Arnold Bennett

The Price of Love Arnold Bennett

When the blinds and curtains had been arranged for privacy, Mrs. Maldon sighed securely andpicked up her crocheting. Rachel rested her hands on the table, which was laid for a supper for four, and asked in a firm, frank voice whether there was anything else."Because, if not," Rachel added, "I'll just take off my pinafore and wash my hands."Mrs. Maldon looked up benevolently and nodded in quick agreement. It was such apparently triflinggestures, eager and generous, that endeared the old lady to Rachel, giving her the priceless sensationof being esteemed and beloved. Her gaze lingered on her aged employer with affection and withprofound respect. Mrs. Maldon made a striking, tall, slim figure, sitting erect in tight black, with theright side of her long, prominent nose in the full gaslight and the other heavily shadowed. Her hairwas absolutely black at over seventy; her eyes were black and glowing, and she could read and docoarse crocheting without spectacles. All her skin, especially round about the eyes, was yellowishbrown and very deeply wrinkled indeed; a decrepit, senile skin, which seemed to contradict theyouth of her pose and her glance. The cast of her features was benign. She had passed throughdesolating and violent experiences, and then through a long, long period of withdrawn tranquillity;and from end to end of her life she had consistently thought the best of all men, refusing torecognize evil and assuming the existence of good. Every one of the millions of her kind thoughtshad helped to mould the expression of her countenance. The expression was definite now, fixed, intensely characteristic after so many decades, and wherever it was seen it gave pleasure and by itsenchantment created goodness and goodwill-even out of their opposites. Such was the life-work ofMrs. Maldo