She had always other things to do; she was 'preparing' for
me. So I had the little journey from Knype to Bursley, and then
the walk up Trafalgar Road, amid the familiar high chimneys and
the smoke and the clayey mud and the football posts and the
Midland accent, all by myself. And there was leisure to consider
anew how I should break to my mother the tremendous news I had for
her. I had been considering that question ever since getting into
the train at Euston, where I had said goodbye to Agnes; but in the
atmosphere of the Five Towns it seemed just slightly more
difficult; though, of course, it wasn't difficult, really.
You see, I wrote to my mother regularly every week, telling her
most of my doings. She knew all my friends by name. I dare say she
formed in her mind notions of what sort of people they were. Thus
I had frequently mentioned Agnes and her family in my letters. But
you can't write even to your mother and say in cold blood: 'I
think I am beginning to fall in love with Agnes,' 'I think Agnes
likes me,' 'I am mad on her,' 'I feel certain she likes me,' 'I
shall propose to her on such a day.' You can't do that. At least I
couldn't. Hence it had come about that on the 20th of December I
had proposed to Agnes and been accepted by Agnes, and my mother
had no suspicion that my happiness was so near.
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