worecanary
yellow
stockings
,
Gudrun
bright
rose
,
the
figures
of
the
two
women
seemed
to
glitter
in
progress
over
the
wide
bay
of
the
railway
crossing
,
white
and
orange
and
yellow
and
rose
glittering
in
motion
across
a
hot
world
silted
with
coal-dust
.
The
two
men
stood
quite
still
in
the
heat
,
watching
.
The
elder
was
a
short
,
hard-faced
energetic
man
of
middle
age
,
the
younger
a
labourer
of
twenty-three
or
so
.
They
stood
in
silence
watching
the
advance
of
the
sisters
.
They
watched
whilst
the
girls
drew
near
,
and
whilst
they
passed
,
and
whilst
they
receded
down
the
dusty
road
,
that
had
dwellings
on
one
side
,
and
dusty
young
corn
on
the
other
.
Then
the
elder
man
,
with
the
whiskers
round
his
face
,
said
in
a
prurient
manner
to
the
young
man
:
“
What
price
that
,
eh
?
She’ll
do
,
won’t
she
?
”
“
Which
?
”
asked
the
young
man
,
eagerly
,
with
a
laugh
.
“
Her
with
the
red
stockings
.
What
d’you
say
?
I’d
give
my
week’s
wages
for
five
minutes
;
what
!
—
just
for
five
minutes
.
”
Again
the
young
man
laughed
.
“
Your
missis
’ud
have
summat
to
say
to
you
,
”
he
replied
.
Gudrun
had
turned
round
and
looked
at
the
two
men
.
They
were
to
her
sinister
creatures
,
standing
watching
after
her
,
by
the
heap
of
pale
grey
slag
.
She
loathed
the
man
with
whiskers
round
his
face
.
“
You’re
first
class
,
you
are
,
”
the
man
said
to
her
,
and
to
the
distance
.
“
Do
you
think
it
would
be
worth
a
week’s
wages
?
”
said
the
younger
man
,
musing
.
“
Do
I
?
I’d
put
’em
bloody-well
down
this
second
—
”
The
younger
man
looked
after
Gudrun
and
Ursula
objectively
,
as
if
he
wished
to
calculate
what
there
might
be
,
that
was
worth
his
week’s
wages
.
He
shook
his
head
with
fatal
misgiving
.
“
No
,
”
he
said
.
“
It’s
not
worth
that
to
me
.
”
“
Isn’t
?
”
said
the
old
man
.
“
By
God
,
if
it
isn’t
to
me
!
”
And
he
went
on
shovelling
his
stones
.
The
girls
descended
between
the
houses
with
slate
roofs
and
blackish
brick
walls
.
The
heavy
gold
glamour
of
approaching
sunset
lay
over
all
the
colliery
district
,
and
the
ugliness
overlaid
with
beauty
was
like
a
narcotic
to
the
senses
.
On
the
roads
silted
with
black
dust
,
the
rich
light
fell
more
warmly
,
more
heavily
,
over
all
the
amorphous
squalor
a
kind
of
magic
was
cast
,
from
the
glowing
close
of
day
.
“
It
has
a
foul
kind
of
beauty
,
this
place
,
”
said
Gudrun
,
evidently
suffering
from
fascination
.
“
Can’t
you
feel
in
some
way
,
a
thick
,
hot
attraction
in
it
?
I
can
.
And
it
quite
stupifies
me
.
”
They
were
passing
between
blocks
of
miners’
dwellings
.
In
the
back
yards
of
several
dwellings
,
a
miner
could
be
seen
washing
himself
in
the
open
on
this
hot
evening
,
naked
down
to
the
loins
,
his
great
trousers
of
moleskin
slipping
almost
away
.
Miners
already
cleaned
were
sitting
on
their
heels
,
with
their
backs
near
the
walls
,
talking
and
silent
in
pure
physical
well-being
,
tired
,
and
taking
physical
rest
.
Their
voices
sounded
out
with
strong
intonation
,
and
the
broad
dialect
was
curiously
caressing
to
the
blood
.
It
seemed
to
envelop
Gudrun
in
a
labourer’s
caress
,
there
was
in
the
whole
atmosphere
a
resonance
of
physical
men
,
a
glamorous
thickness
of
labour
and
maleness
,
surcharged
in
the
air
.
But
it
was
universal
in
the
district
,
and
therefore
unnoticed
by
the
inhabitants
.
To
Gudrun
,
however
,
it
was
potent
and
half-repulsive
.
She
could
never
tell
why
Beldover
was
so
utterly
different
from
London
and
the
south
,
why
one’s
whole
feelings
were
different
,
why
one
seemed
to
live
in
another
sphere
.
Now
she
realised
that
this
was
the
world
of
powerful
,
underworld
men
who
spent
most
of
their
time
in
the
darkness
.
In
their
voices
she
could
hear
the
voluptuous
resonance
of
darkness
,
the
strong
,
dangerous
underworld
,
mindless
,
inhuman
.
They
sounded
also
like
strange
machines
,
heavy
,
oiled
.
The
voluptuousness
was
like
that
of
machinery
,
cold
and
iron
.
It
was
the
same
every
evening
when
she
came
home
,
she
seemed
to
move
through
a
wave
of
disruptive
force
,
that
was
given
off
from
the
presence
of
thousands
of
vigorous
,
underworld
,
half-automatised
colliers
,
and
which
went
to
the
brain
and
the
heart
,
awaking
a
fatal
desire
,
and
a
fatal
callousness
.
There
came
over
her
a
nostalgia
for
the
place
.
She
hated
it
,
she
knew
how
utterly
cut
off
it
was
,
how
hideous
and
how
sickeningly
mindless
.
Sometimes
she
beat
her
wings
like
a
new
Daphne
,
turning
not
into
a
tree
but
a
machine
.
And
yet
,
she
was
overcome
by
the
nostalgia
.
She
struggled
to
get
more
and
more
into
accord
with
the
atmosphere
of
the
place
,
she
craved
to
get
her
satisfaction
of
it
.
She
felt
herself
drawn
out
at
evening
into
the
main
street
of
the
town
,
that
was
uncreated
and
ugly
,
and
yet
surcharged
with
this
same
potent
atmosphere
of
intense
,
dark
callousness
.
There
were
always
miners
about
.
They
moved
with
their
strange
,
distorted
dignity
,
a
certain
beauty
,
and
unnatural
stillness
in
their
bearing
,
a
look
of
abstraction
and
half
resignation
in
their
pale
,
often
gaunt
faces
.
They
belonged
to
another
world
,
they
had
a
strange
glamour
,
their
voices
were
full
of
an
intolerable
deep
resonance
,
like
a
machine’s
burring
,
a
music
more
maddening
than
the
siren’s
long
ago
.
She
found
herself
,
with
the
rest
of
the
common
women
,
drawn
out
on
Friday
evenings
to
the
little
market
.
Friday
was
pay-day
for
the
colliers
,
and
Friday
night
was
market
night
.
Every
woman
was
abroad
,
every
man
was
out
,
shopping
with
his
wife
,
or
gathering
with
his
pals
.
The
pavements
were
dark
for
miles
around
with
people
coming
in
,
the
little
market-place
on
the
crown
of
the
hill
,
and
the
main
street
of
Beldover
were
black
with
thickly-crowded
men
and
women
.
It
was
dark
,
the
market-place
was
hot
with
kerosene
flares
,
which
threw
a
ruddy
light
on
the
grave
faces
of
the
purchasing
wives
,
and
on
the
pale
abstract
faces
of
the
men
.
The
air
was
full
of
the
sound
of
criers
and
of
people
talking
,
thick
streams
of
people
moved
on
the
pavements
towards
the
solid
crowd
of
the
market
.
The
shops
were
blazing
and
packed
with
women
,
in
the
streets
were
men
,
mostly
men
,
miners
of
all
ages
.
Money
was
spent
with
almost
lavish
freedom
.
The
carts
that
came
could
not
pass
through
.
They
had
to
wait
,
the
driver
calling
and
shouting
,
till
the
dense
crowd
would
make
way
.
Everywhere
,
young
fellows
from
the
outlying
districts
were
making
conversation
with
the
girls
,
standing
in
the
road
and
at
the
corners
.
The
doors
of
the
public-houses
were
open
and
full
of
light
,
men
passed
in
and
out
in
a
continual
stream
,
everywhere
men
were
calling
out
to
one
another
,
or
crossing
to
meet
one
another
,
or
standing
in
little
gangs
and
circles
,
discussing
,
endlessly
discussing
.
The
sense
of
talk
,
buzzing
,
jarring
,
half-secret
,
the
endless
mining
and
political
wrangling
,
vibrated
in
the
air
like
discordant
machinery
.
And
it
was
their
voices
which
affected
Gudrun
almost
to
swooning
.
They
aroused
a
strange
,
nostalgic
ache
of
desire
,
something
almost
demoniacal
,
never
to
be
fulfilled
.
Like
any
other
common
girl
of
the
district
,
Gudrun
strolled
up
and
down
,
up
and
down
the
length
of
the
brilliant
two-hundred
paces
of
the
pavement
nearest
the
market-place
.
She
knew
it
was
a
vulgar
thing
to
do
;
her
father
and
mother
could
not
bear
it
;
but
the
nostalgia
came
over
her
,
she
must
be
among
the
people
.
Sometimes
she
sat
among
the
louts
in
the
cinema
:
rakish-looking
,
unattractive
louts
they
were
.
Yet
she
must
be
among
them
.
And
,
like
any
other
common
lass
,
she
found
her
‘boy.’
It
was
an
electrician
,
one
of
the
electricians
introduced
according
to
Gerald’s
new
scheme
.
He
was
an
earnest
,
clever
man
,
a
scientist
with
a
passion
for
sociology
.
He
lived
alone
in
a
cottage
,
in
lodgings
,
in
Willey
Green
.
He
was
a
gentleman
,
and
sufficiently
well-to-do
.
His
landlady
spread
the
reports
about
him
;
he
would
have
a
large
wooden
tub
in
his
bedroom
,
and
every
time
he
came
in
from
work
,
he
would
have
pails
and
pails
of
water
brought
up
,
to
bathe
in
,
then
he
put
on
clean
shirt
and
under-clothing
every
day
,
and
clean
silk
socks
;
fastidious
and
exacting
he
was
in
these
respects
,
but
in
every
other
way
,
most
ordinary
and
unassuming
.
Gudrun
knew
all
these
things
.
The
Brangwen’s
house
was
one
to
which
the
gossip
came
naturally
and
inevitably
.
Palmer
was
in
the
first
place
a
friend
of
Ursula’s
.
But
in
his
pale
,
elegant
,
serious
face
there
showed
the
same
nostalgia
that
Gudrun
felt
.
He
too
must
walk
up
and
down
the
street
on
Friday
evening
.
So
he
walked
with
Gudrun
,
and
a
friendship
was
struck
up
between
them
.
But
he
was
not
in
love
with
Gudrun
;
he
really
wanted
Ursula
,
but
for
some
strange
reason
,
nothing
could
happen
between
her
and
him
.
He
liked
to
have
Gudrun
about
,
as
a
fellow-mind
—
but
that
was
all
.
And
she
had
no
real
feeling
for
him
.
He
was
a
scientist
,
he
had
to
have
a
woman
to
back
him
.
But
he
was
really
impersonal
,
he
had
the
fineness
of
an
elegant
piece
of
machinery
.
He
was
too
cold
,
too
destructive
to
care
really
for
women
,
too
great
an
egoist
.
He
was
polarised
by
the
men
.
Individually
he
detested
and
despised
them
.
In
the
mass
they
fascinated
him
,
as
machinery
fascinated
him
.
They
were
a
new
sort
of
machinery
to
him
—
but
incalculable
,
incalculable
.
So
Gudrun
strolled
the
streets
with
Palmer
,
or
went
to
the
cinema
with
him
.
And
his
long
,
pale
,
rather
elegant
face
flickered
as
he
made
his
sarcastic
remarks
.
There
they
were
,
the
two
of
them
:
two
elegants
in
one
sense
:
in
the
other
sense
,
two
units
,
absolutely
adhering
to
the
people
,
teeming
with
the
distorted
colliers
.
The
same
secret
seemed
to
be
working
in
the
souls
of
all
alike
,
Gudrun
,
Palmer
,
the
rakish
young
bloods
,
the
gaunt
,
middle-aged
men
.
All
had
a
secret
sense
of
power
,
and
of
inexpressible
destructiveness
,
and
of
fatal
half-heartedness
,
a
sort
of
rottenness
in
the
will
.
Sometimes
Gudrun
would
start
aside
,
see
it
all
,
see
how
she
was
sinking
in
.
And
then
she
was
filled
with
a
fury
of
contempt
and
anger
.
She
felt
she
was
sinking
into
one
mass
with
the
rest
—
all
so
close
and
intermingled
and
breathless
.
It
was
horrible
.
She
stifled
.
She
prepared
for
flight
,
feverishly
she
flew
to
her
work
.
But
soon
she
let
go
.
She
started
off
into
the
country
—
the
darkish
,
glamorous
country
.
The
spell
was
beginning
to
work
again
.
CHAPTER
X
.
SKETCH-BOOK
One
morning
the
sisters
were
sketching
by
the
side
of
Willey
Water
,
at
the
remote
end
of
the
lake
.
Gudrun
had
waded
out
to
a
gravelly
shoal
,
and
was
seated
like
a
Buddhist
,
staring
fixedly
at
the
water-plants
that
rose
succulent
from
the
mud
of
the
low
shores
.
What
she
could
see
was
mud
,
soft
,
oozy
,
watery
mud
,
and
from
its
festering
chill
,
water-plants
rose
up
,
thick
and
cool
and
fleshy
,
very
straight
and
turgid
,
thrusting
out
their
leaves
at
right
angles
,
and
having
dark
lurid
colours
,
dark
green
and
blotches
of
black-purple
and
bronze
.
But
she
could
feel
their
turgid
fleshy
structure
as
in
a
sensuous
vision
,
she
knew
how
they
rose
out
of
the
mud
,
she
knew
how
they
thrust
out
from
themselves
,
how
they
stood
stiff
and
succulent
against
the
air
.
Ursula
was
watching
the
butterflies
,
of
which
there
were
dozens
near
the
water
,
little
blue
ones
suddenly
snapping
out
of
nothingness
into
a
jewel-life
,
a
large
black-and-red
one
standing
upon
a
flower
and
breathing
with
his
soft
wings
,
intoxicatingly
,
breathing
pure
,
ethereal
sunshine
;
two
white
ones
wrestling
in
the
low
air
;
there
was
a
halo
round
them
;
ah
,
when
they
came
tumbling
nearer
they
were
orangetips
,
and
it
was
the
orange
that
had
made
the
halo
.
Ursula
rose
and
drifted
away
,
unconscious
like
the
butterflies
.
Gudrun
,
absorbed
in
a
stupor
of
apprehension
of
surging
water-plants
,
sat
crouched
on
the
shoal
,
drawing
,
not
looking
up
for
a
long
time
,
and
then
staring
unconsciously
,
absorbedly
at
the
rigid
,
naked
,
succulent
stems
.
Her
feet
were
bare
,
her
hat
lay
on
the
bank
opposite
.
She
started
out
of
her
trance
,
hearing
the
knocking
of
oars
.
She
looked
round
.
There
was
a
boat
with
a
gaudy
Japanese
parasol
,
and
a
man
in
white
,
rowing
.
The
woman
was
Hermione
,
and
the
man
was
Gerald
.
She
knew
it
instantly
.
And
instantly
she
perished
in
the
keen
frisson
of
anticipation
,
an
electric
vibration
in
her
veins
,
intense
,
much
more
intense
than
that
which
was
always
humming
low
in
the
atmosphere
of
Beldover
.
Gerald
was
her
escape
from
the
heavy
slough
of
the
pale
,
underworld
,
automatic
colliers
.
He
started
out
of
the
mud
.
He
was
master
.
She
saw
his
back
,
the
movement
of
his
white
loins
.
But
not
that
—
it
was
the
whiteness
he
seemed
to
enclose
as
he
bent
forwards
,
rowing
.
He
seemed
to
stoop
to
something
.
His
glistening
,
whitish
hair
seemed
like
the
electricity
of
the
sky
.
“
There’s
Gudrun
,
”
came
Hermione’s
voice
floating
distinct
over
the
water
.
“
We
will
go
and
speak
to
her
.
Do
you
mind
?
”
Gerald
looked
round
and
saw
the
girl
standing
by
the
water’s
edge
,
looking
at
him
.
He
pulled
the
boat
towards
her
,
magnetically
,
without
thinking
of
her
.
In
his
world
,
his
conscious
world
,
she
was
still
nobody
.
He
knew
that
Hermione
had
a
curious
pleasure
in
treading
down
all
the
social
differences
,
at
least
apparently
,
and
he
left
it
to
her
.
“
How
do
you
do
,
Gudrun
?
”
sang
Hermione
,
using
the
Christian
name
in
the
fashionable
manner
.
“
What
are
you
doing
?
”
“
How
do
you
do
,
Hermione
?
I
was
sketching
.
”
“
Were
you
?
”
The
boat
drifted
nearer
,
till
the
keel
ground
on
the
bank
.
“
May
we
see
?
I
should
like
to
so
much
.
”
It
was
no
use
resisting
Hermione’s
deliberate
intention
.
“
Well
—
”
said
Gudrun
reluctantly
,
for
she
always
hated
to
have
her
unfinished
work
exposed
—
“
there’s
nothing
in
the
least
interesting
.
”
“
Isn’t
there
?
But
let
me
see
,
will
you
?
”
Gudrun
reached
out
the
sketch-book
,
Gerald
stretched
from
the
boat
to
take
it
.
And
as
he
did
so
,
he
remembered
Gudrun’s
last
words
to
him
,
and
her
face
lifted
up
to
him
as
he
sat
on
the
swerving
horse
.
An
intensification
of
pride
went
over
his
nerves
,
because
he
felt
,
in
some
way
she
was
compelled
by
him
.
The
exchange
of
feeling
between
them
was
strong
and
apart
from
their
consciousness
.
And
as
if
in
a
spell
,
Gudrun
was
aware
of
his
body
,
stretching
and
surging
like
the
marsh-fire
,
stretching
towards
her
,
his
hand
coming
straight
forward
like
a
stem
.
Her
voluptuous
,
acute
apprehension
of
him
made
the
blood
faint
in
her
veins
,
her
mind
went
dim
and
unconscious
.
And
he
rocked
on
the
water
perfectly
,
like
the
rocking
of
phosphorescence
.
He
looked
round
at
the
boat
.
It
was
drifting
off
a
little
.
He
lifted
the
oar
to
bring
it
back
.
And
the
exquisite
pleasure
of
slowly
arresting
the
boat
,
in
the
heavy-soft
water
,
was
complete
as
a
swoon
.
“
That’s
what
you
have
done
,
”
said
Hermione
,
looking
searchingly
at
the
plants
on
the
shore
,
and
comparing
with
Gudrun’s
drawing
.
Gudrun
looked
round
in
the
direction
of
Hermione’s
long
,
pointing
finger
.
“
That
is
it
,
isn’t
it
?
”
repeated
Hermione
,
needing
confirmation
.
“
Yes
,
”
said
Gudrun
automatically
,
taking
no
real
heed
.
“
Let
me
look
,
”
said
Gerald
,
reaching
forward
for
the
book
.
But
Hermione
ignored
him
,
he
must
not
presume
,
before
she
had
finished
.
But
he
,
his
will
as
unthwarted
and
as
unflinching
as
hers
,
stretched
forward
till
he
touched
the
book
.
A
little
shock
,
a
storm
of
revulsion
against
him
,
shook
Hermione
unconsciously
.
She
released
the
book
when
he
had
not
properly
got
it
,
and
it
tumbled
against
the
side
of
the
boat
and
bounced
into
the
water
.
“
There
!
”
sang
Hermione
,
with
a
strange
ring
of
malevolent
victory
.
“
I’m
so
sorry
,
so
awfully
sorry
.
Can’t
you
get
it
,
Gerald
?
”
This
last
was
said
in
a
note
of
anxious
sneering
that
made
Gerald’s
veins
tingle
with
fine
hate
for
her
.
He
leaned
far
out
of
the
boat
,
reaching
down
into
the
water
.
He
could
feel
his
position
was
ridiculous
,
his
loins
exposed
behind
him
.
“
It
is
of
no
importance
,
”
came
the
strong
,
clanging
voice
of
Gudrun
.
She
seemed
to
touch
him
.
But
he
reached
further
,
the
boat
swayed
violently
.
Hermione
,
however
,
remained
unperturbed
.
He
grasped
the
book
,
under
the
water
,
and
brought
it
up
,
dripping
.
“
I’m
so
dreadfully
sorry
—
dreadfully
sorry
,
”
repeated
Hermione
.
“
I’m
afraid
it
was
all
my
fault
.
”
“
It’s
of
no
importance
—
really
,
I
assure
you
—
it
doesn’t
matter
in
the
least
,
”
said
Gudrun
loudly
,
with
emphasis
,
her
face
flushed
scarlet
.
And
she
held
out
her
hand
impatiently
for
the
wet
book
,
to
have
done
with
the
scene
.
Gerald
gave
it
to
her
.
He
was
not
quite
himself
.
“
I’m
so
dreadfully
sorry
,
”
repeated
Hermione
,
till
both
Gerald
and
Gudrun
were
exasperated
.
“
Is
there
nothing
that
can
be
done
?
”
“
In
what
way
?
”
asked
Gudrun
,
with
cool
irony
.
“
Can’t
we
save
the
drawings
?
”
There
was
a
moment’s
pause
,
wherein
Gudrun
made
evident
all
her
refutation
of
Hermione’s
persistence
.
“
I
assure
you
,
”
said
Gudrun
,
with
cutting
distinctness
,
“
the
drawings
are
quite
as
good
as
ever
they
were
,
for
my
purpose
.
I
want
them
only
for
reference
.
”
“
But
can’t
I
give
you
a
new
book
?
I
wish
you’d
let
me
do
that
.
I
feel
so
truly
sorry
.
I
feel
it
was
all
my
fault
.
”
“
As
far
as
I
saw
,
”
said
Gudrun
,
“
it
wasn’t
your
fault
at
all
.
If
there
was
any
fault
,
it
was
Mr
Crich’s
.
But
the
whole
thing
is
entirely
trivial
,
and
it
really
is
ridiculous
to
take
any
notice
of
it
.
”
Gerald
watched
Gudrun
closely
,
whilst
she
repulsed
Hermione
.
There
was
a
body
of
cold
power
in
her
.
He
watched
her
with
an
insight
that
amounted
to
clairvoyance
.
He
saw
her
a
dangerous
,
hostile
spirit
,
that
could
stand
undiminished
and
unabated
.
It
was
so
finished
,
and
of
such
perfect
gesture
,
moreover
.
“
I’m
awfully
glad
if
it
doesn’t
matter
,
”
he
said
;
“
if
there’s
no
real
harm
done
.
”
She
looked
back
at
him
,
with
her
fine
blue
eyes
,
and
signalled
full
into
his
spirit
,
as
she
said
,
her
voice
ringing
with
intimacy
almost
caressive
now
it
was
addressed
to
him
:
“
Of
course
,
it
doesn’t
matter
in
the
least
.
”
The
bond
was
established
between
them
,
in
that
look
,
in
her
tone
.
In
her
tone
,
she
made
the
understanding
clear
—
they
were
of
the
same
kind
,
he
and
she
,
a
sort
of
diabolic
freemasonry
subsisted
between
them
.
Henceforward
,
she
knew
,
she
had
her
power
over
him
.
Wherever
they
met
,
they
would
be
secretly
associated
.
And
he
would
be
helpless
in
the
association
with
her
.
Her
soul
exulted
.
“
Good-bye
!
I’m
so
glad
you
forgive
me
.
Gooood-bye
!
”
Hermione
sang
her
farewell
,
and
waved
her
hand
.
Gerald
automatically
took
the
oar
and
pushed
off
.
But
he
was
looking
all
the
time
,
with
a
glimmering
,
subtly-smiling
admiration
in
his
eyes
,
at
Gudrun
,
who
stood
on
the
shoal
shaking
the
wet
book
in
her
hand
.
She
turned
away
and
ignored
the
receding
boat
.
But
Gerald
looked
back
as
he
rowed
,
beholding
her
,
forgetting
what
he
was
doing
.
“
Aren’t
we
going
too
much
to
the
left
?
”
sang
Hermione
,
as
she
sat
ignored
under
her
coloured
parasol
.
Gerald
looked
round
without
replying
,
the
oars
balanced
and
glancing
in
the
sun
.
“
I
think
it’s
all
right
,
”
he
said
good-humouredly
,
beginning
to
row
again
without
thinking
of
what
he
was
doing
.
And
Hermione
disliked
him
extremely
for
his
good-humoured
obliviousness
,
she
was
nullified
,
she
could
not
regain
ascendancy
.
CHAPTER
XI
.
AN
ISLAND
Meanwhile
Ursula
had
wandered
on
from
Willey
Water
along
the
course
of
the
bright
little
stream
.
The
afternoon
was
full
of
larks’
singing
.
On
the
bright
hill-sides
was
a
subdued
smoulder
of
gorse
.
A
few
forget-me-nots
flowered
by
the
water
.
There
was
a
rousedness
and
a
glancing
everywhere
.
She
strayed
absorbedly
on
,
over
the
brooks
.
She
wanted
to
go
to
the
mill-pond
above
.
The
big
mill-house
was
deserted
,
save
for
a
labourer
and
his
wife
who
lived
in
the
kitchen
.
So
she
passed
through
the
empty
farm-yard
and
through
the
wilderness
of
a
garden
,
and
mounted
the
bank
by
the
sluice
.
When
she
got
to
the
top
,
to
see
the
old
,
velvety
surface
of
the
pond
before
her
,
she
noticed
a
man
on
the
bank
,
tinkering
with
a
punt
.
It
was
Birkin
sawing
and
hammering
away
.
She
stood
at
the
head
of
the
sluice
,
looking
at
him
.
He
was
unaware
of
anybody’s
presence
.
He
looked
very
busy
,
like
a
wild
animal
,
active
and
intent
.
She
felt
she
ought
to
go
away
,
he
would
not
want
her
.
He
seemed
to
be
so
much
occupied
.
But
she
did
not
want
to
go
away
.
Therefore
she
moved
along
the
bank
till
he
would
look
up
.
Which
he
soon
did
.
The
moment
he
saw
her
,
he
dropped
his
tools
and
came
forward
,
saying
:
“
How
do
you
do
?
I’m
making
the
punt
water-tight
.
Tell
me
if
you
think
it
is
right
.
”
She
went
along
with
him
.
“
You
are
your
father’s
daughter
,
so
you
can
tell
me
if
it
will
do
,
”
he
said
.
She
bent
to
look
at
the
patched
punt
.
“
I
am
sure
I
am
my
father’s
daughter
,
”
she
said
,
fearful
of
having
to
judge
.
“
But
I
don’t
know
anything
about
carpentry
.
It
looks
right
,
don’t
you
think
?
”
“
Yes
,
I
think
.
I
hope
it
won’t
let
me
to
the
bottom
,
that’s
all
.
Though
even
so
,
it
isn’t
a
great
matter
,
I
should
come
up
again
.
Help
me
to
get
it
into
the
water
,
will
you
?
”
With
combined
efforts
they
turned
over
the
heavy
punt
and
set
it
afloat
.
“
Now
,
”
he
said
,
“
I’ll
try
it
and
you
can
watch
what
happens
.
Then
if
it
carries
,
I’ll
take
you
over
to
the
island
.
”
“
Do
,
”
she
cried
,
watching
anxiously
.
The
pond
was
large
,
and
had
that
perfect
stillness
and
the
dark
lustre
of
very
deep
water
.
There
were
two
small
islands
overgrown
with
bushes
and
a
few
trees
,
towards
the
middle
.
Birkin
pushed
himself
off
,
and
veered
clumsily
in
the
pond
.
Luckily
the
punt
drifted
so
that
he
could
catch
hold
of
a
willow
bough
,
and
pull
it
to
the
island
.
“
Rather
overgrown
,
”
he
said
,
looking
into
the
interior
,
“
but
very
nice
.
I’ll
come
and
fetch
you
.
The
boat
leaks
a
little
.
”
In
a
moment
he
was
with
her
again
,
and
she
stepped
into
the
wet
punt
.
“
It’ll
float
us
all
right
,
”
he
said
,
and
manœuvred
again
to
the
island
.
They
landed
under
a
willow
tree
.
She
shrank
from
the
little
jungle
of
rank
plants
before
her
,
evil-smelling
figwort
and
hemlock
.
But
he
explored
into
it
.
“
I
shall
mow
this
down
,
”
he
said
,
“
and
then
it
will
be
romantic
—
like
Paul
et
Virginie
.
”
“
Yes
,
one
could
have
lovely
Watteau
picnics
here
,
”
cried
Ursula
with
enthusiasm
.
His
face
darkened
.
“
I
don’t
want
Watteau
picnics
here
,
”
he
said
.
“
Only
your
Virginie
,
”
she
laughed
.
“
Virginie
enough
,
”
he
smiled
wryly
.
“
No
,
I
don’t
want
her
either
.
”
Ursula
looked
at
him
closely
.
She
had
not
seen
him
since
Breadalby
.
He
was
very
thin
and
hollow
,
with
a
ghastly
look
in
his
face
.
“
You
have
been
ill
;
haven’t
you
?
”
she
asked
,
rather
repulsed
.
“
Yes
,
”
he
replied
coldly
.
They
had
sat
down
under
the
willow
tree
,
and
were
looking
at
the
pond
,
from
their
retreat
on
the
island
.
“
Has
it
made
you
frightened
?
”
she
asked
.
“
What
of
?
”
he
asked
,
turning
his
eyes
to
look
at
her
.
Something
in
him
,
inhuman
and
unmitigated
,
disturbed
her
,
and
shook
her
out
of
her
ordinary
self
.
“
It
is
frightening
to
be
very
ill
,
isn’t
it
?
”
she
said
.
“
It
isn’t
pleasant
,
”
he
said
.
“
Whether
one
is
really
afraid
of
death
,
or
not
,
I
have
never
decided
.
In
one
mood
,
not
a
bit
,
in
another
,
very
much
.
”
“
But
doesn’t
it
make
you
feel
ashamed
?
I
think
it
makes
one
so
ashamed
,
to
be
ill
—
illness
is
so
terribly
humiliating
,
don’t
you
think
?
”
He
considered
for
some
minutes
.
“
Maybe
,
”
he
said
.
“
Though
one
knows
all
the
time
one’s
life
isn’t
really
right
,
at
the
source
.
That’s
the
humiliation
.
I
don’t
see
that
the
illness
counts
so
much
,
after
that
.
One
is
ill
because
one
doesn’t
live
properly
—
can’t
.
It’s
the
failure
to
live
that
makes
one
ill
,
and
humiliates
one
.
”
“
But
do
you
fail
to
live
?
”
she
asked
,
almost
jeering
.
“
Why
yes
—
I
don’t
make
much
of
a
success
of
my
days
.
One
seems
always
to
be
bumping
one’s
nose
against
the
blank
wall
ahead
.
”
Ursula
laughed
.
She
was
frightened
,
and
when
she
was
frightened
she
always
laughed
and
pretended
to
be
jaunty
.
“
Your
poor
nose
!
”
she
said
,
looking
at
that
feature
of
his
face
.
“
No
wonder
it’s
ugly
,
”
he
replied
.
She
was
silent
for
some
minutes
,
struggling
with
her
own
self-deception
.
It
was
an
instinct
in
her
,
to
deceive
herself
.
“
But
I’m
happy
—
I
think
life
is
awfully
jolly
,
”
she
said
.
“
Good
,
”
he
answered
,
with
a
certain
cold
indifference
.
She
reached
for
a
bit
of
paper
which
had
wrapped
a
small
piece
of
chocolate
she
had
found
in
her
pocket
,
and
began
making
a
boat
.
He
watched
her
without
heeding
her
.
There
was
something
strangely
pathetic
and
tender
in
her
moving
,
unconscious
finger-tips
,
that
were
agitated
and
hurt
,
really
.
“
I
do
enjoy
things
—
don’t
you
?
”
she
asked
.
“
Oh
yes
!
But
it
infuriates
me
that
I
can’t
get
right
,
at
the
really
growing
part
of
me
.
I
feel
all
tangled
and
messed
up
,
and
I
can’t
get
straight
anyhow
.
I
don’t
know
what
really
to
do
.
One
must
do
something
somewhere
.
”
“
Why
should
you
always
be
doing
?
”
she
retorted
.
“
It
is
so
plebeian
.
I
think
it
is
much
better
to
be
really
patrician
,
and
to
do
nothing
but
just
be
oneself
,
like
a
walking
flower
.
”
“
I
quite
agree
,
”
he
said
,
“
if
one
has
burst
into
blossom
.
But
I
can’t
get
my
flower
to
blossom
anyhow
.
Either
it
is
blighted
in
the
bud
,
or
has
got
the
smother-fly
,
or
it
isn’t
nourished
.
Curse
it
,
it
isn’t
even
a
bud
.
It
is
a
contravened
knot
.
”
Again
she
laughed
.
He
was
so
very
fretful
and
exasperated
.
But
she
was
anxious
and
puzzled
.
How
was
one
to
get
out
,
anyhow
.
There
must
be
a
way
out
somewhere
.
There
was
a
silence
,
wherein
she
wanted
to
cry
.
She
reached
for
another
bit
of
chocolate
paper
,
and
began
to
fold
another
boat
.
“
And
why
is
it
,
”
she
asked
at
length
,
“
that
there
is
no
flowering
,
no
dignity
of
human
life
now
?
”
“
The
whole
idea
is
dead
.
Humanity
itself
is
dry-rotten
,
really
.
There
are
myriads
of
human
beings
hanging
on
the
bush
—
and
they
look
very
nice
and
rosy
,
your
healthy
young
men
and
women
.
But
they
are
apples
of
Sodom
,
as
a
matter
of
fact
,
Dead
Sea
Fruit
,
gall-apples
.
It
isn’t
true
that
they
have
any
significance
—
their
insides
are
full
of
bitter
,
corrupt
ash
.
”
“
But
there
are
good
people
,
”
protested
Ursula
.
“
Good
enough
for
the
life
of
today
.
But
mankind
is
a
dead
tree
,
covered
with
fine
brilliant
galls
of
people
.
”
Ursula
could
not
help
stiffening
herself
against
this
,
it
was
too
picturesque
and
final
.
But
neither
could
she
help
making
him
go
on
.
“
And
if
it
is
so
,
why
is
it
?
”
she
asked
,
hostile
.
They
were
rousing
each
other
to
a
fine
passion
of
opposition
.
“
Why
,
why
are
people
all
balls
of
bitter
dust
?
Because
they
won’t
fall
off
the
tree
when
they’re
ripe
.
They
hang
on
to
their
old
positions
when
the
position
is
over-past
,
till
they
become
infested
with
little
worms
and
dry-rot
.
”
There
was
a
long
pause
.
His
voice
had
become
hot
and
very
sarcastic
.
Ursula
was
troubled
and
bewildered
,
they
were
both
oblivious
of
everything
but
their
own
immersion
.
“
But
even
if
everybody
is
wrong
—
where
are
you
right
?
”
she
cried
,
“
where
are
you
any
better
?
”
“
I
?
—
I’m
not
right
,
”
he
cried
back
.
“
At
least
my
only
rightness
lies
in
the
fact
that
I
know
it
.
I
detest
what
I
am
,
outwardly
.
I
loathe
myself
as
a
human
being
.
Humanity
is
a
huge
aggregate
lie
,
and
a
huge
lie
is
less
than
a
small
truth
.
Humanity
is
less
,
far
less
than
the
individual
,
because
the
individual
may
sometimes
be
capable
of
truth
,
and
humanity
is
a
tree
of
lies
.
And
they
say
that
love
is
the
greatest
thing
;
they
persist
in
saying
this
,
the
foul
liars
,
and
just
look
at
what
they
do
!
Look
at
all
the
millions
of
people
who
repeat
every
minute
that
love
is
the
greatest
,
and
charity
is
the
greatest
—
and
see
what
they
are
doing
all
the
time
.
By
their
works
ye
shall
know
them
,
for
dirty
liars
and
cowards
,
who
daren’t
stand
by
their
own
actions
,
much
less
by
their
own
words
.
”
“
But
,
”
said
Ursula
sadly
,
“
that
doesn’t
alter
the
fact
that
love
is
the
greatest
,
does
it
?
What
they
do
doesn’t
alter
the
truth
of
what
they
say
,
does
it
?
”
“
Completely
,
because
if
what
they
say
were
true
,
then
they
couldn’t
help
fulfilling
it
.
But
they
maintain
a
lie
,
and
so
they
run
amok
at
last
.
It’s
a
lie
to
say
that
love
is
the
greatest
.
You
might
as
well
say
that
hate
is
the
greatest
,
since
the
opposite
of
everything
balances
.
What
people
want
is
hate
—
hate
and
nothing
but
hate
.
And
in
the
name
of
righteousness
and
love
,
they
get
it
.
They
distil
themselves
with
nitroglycerine
,
all
the
lot
of
them
,
out
of
very
love
.
It’s
the
lie
that
kills
.
If
we
want
hate
,
let
us
have
it
—
death
,
murder
,
torture
,
violent
destruction
—
let
us
have
it
:
but
not
in
the
name
of
love
.
But
I
abhor
humanity
,
I
wish
it
was
swept
away
.
It
could
go
,
and
there
would
be
no
absolute
loss
,
if
every
human
being
perished
tomorrow
.
The
reality
would
be
untouched
.
Nay
,
it
would
be
better
.
The
real
tree
of
life
would
then
be
rid
of
the
most
ghastly
,
heavy
crop
of
Dead
Sea
Fruit
,
the
intolerable
burden
of
myriad
simulacra
of
people
,
an
infinite
weight
of
mortal
lies
.
”
“
So
you’d
like
everybody
in
the
world
destroyed
?
”
said
Ursula
.
“
I
should
indeed
.
”
“
And
the
world
empty
of
people
?
”
“
Yes
truly
.
You
yourself
,
don’t
you
find
it
a
beautiful
clean
thought
,
a
world
empty
of
people
,
just
uninterrupted
grass
,
and
a
hare
sitting
up
?
”
The
pleasant
sincerity
of
his
voice
made
Ursula
pause
to
consider
her
own
proposition
.
And
really
it
was
attractive
:
a
clean
,
lovely
,
humanless
world
.
It
was
the
really
desirable
.
Her
heart
hesitated
,
and
exulted
.
But
still
,
she
was
dissatisfied
with
him
.
“
But
,
”
she
objected
,
“
you’d
be
dead
yourself
,
so
what
good
would
it
do
you
?
”
“
I
would
die
like
a
shot
,
to
know
that
the
earth
would
really
be
cleaned
of
all
the
people
.
It
is
the
most
beautiful
and
freeing
thought
.
Then
there
would
never
be
another
foul
humanity
created
,
for
a
universal
defilement
.
”
“
No
,
”
said
Ursula
,
“
there
would
be
nothing
.
”
“
What
!
Nothing
?
Just
because
humanity
was
wiped
out
?
You
flatter
yourself
.
There’d
be
everything
.
”
“
But
how
,
if
there
were
no
people
?
”
“
Do
you
think
that
creation
depends
on
man
!
It
merely
doesn’t
.
There
are
the
trees
and
the
grass
and
birds
.
I
much
prefer
to
think
of
the
lark
rising
up
in
the
morning
upon
a
humanless
world
.
Man
is
a
mistake
,
he
must
go
.
There
is
the
grass
,
and
hares
and
adders
,
and
the
unseen
hosts
,
actual
angels
that
go
about
freely
when
a
dirty
humanity
doesn’t
interrupt
them
—
and
good
pure-tissued
demons
:
very
nice
.
”
It
pleased
Ursula
,
what
he
said
,
pleased
her
very
much
,
as
a
phantasy
.
Of
course
it
was
only
a
pleasant
fancy
.
She
herself
knew
too
well
the
actuality
of
humanity
,
its
hideous
actuality
.
She
knew
it
could
not
disappear
so
cleanly
and
conveniently
.
It
had
a
long
way
to
go
yet
,
a
long
and
hideous
way
.
Her
subtle
,
feminine
,
demoniacal
soul
knew
it
well
.
“
If
only
man
was
swept
off
the
face
of
the
earth
,
creation
would
go
on
so
marvellously
,
with
a
new
start
,
non-human
.
Man
is
one
of
the
mistakes
of
creation
—
like
the
ichthyosauri
.
If
only
he
were
gone
again
,
think
what
lovely
things
would
come
out
of
the
liberated
days
;
—
things
straight
out
of
the
fire
.
”
“
But
man
will
never
be
gone
,
”
she
said
,
with
insidious
,
diabolical
knowledge
of
the
horrors
of
persistence
.
“
The
world
will
go
with
him
.
”
“
Ah
no
,
”
he
answered
,
“
not
so
.
I
believe
in
the
proud
angels
and
the
demons
that
are
our
fore-runners
.
They
will
destroy
us
,
because
we
are
not
proud
enough
.
The
ichthyosauri
were
not
proud
:
they
crawled
and
floundered
as
we
do
.
And
besides
,
look
at
elder-flowers
and
bluebells
—
they
are
a
sign
that
pure
creation
takes
place
—
even
the
butterfly
.
But
humanity
never
gets
beyond
the
caterpillar
stage
—
it
rots
in
the
chrysalis
,
it
never
will
have
wings
.
It
is
anti-creation
,
like
monkeys
and
baboons
.
”
Ursula
watched
him
as
he
talked
.
There
seemed
a
certain
impatient
fury
in
him
,
all
the
while
,
and
at
the
same
time
a
great
amusement
in
everything
,
and
a
final
tolerance
.
And
it
was
this
tolerance
she
mistrusted
,
not
the
fury
.
She
saw
that
,
all
the
while
,
in
spite
of
himself
,
he
would
have
to
be
trying
to
save
the
world
.
And
this
knowledge
,
whilst
it
comforted
her
heart
somewhere
with
a
little
self-satisfaction
,
stability
,
yet
filled
her
with
a
certain
sharp
contempt
and
hate
of
him
.
She
wanted
him
to
herself
,
she
hated
the
Salvator
Mundi
touch
.
It
was
something
diffuse
and
generalised
about
him
,
which
she
could
not
stand
.
He
would
behave
in
the
same
way
,
say
the
same
things
,
give
himself
as
completely
to
anybody
who
came
along
,
anybody
and
everybody
who
liked
to
appeal
to
him
.
It
was
despicable
,
a
very
insidious
form
of
prostitution
.
“
But
,
”
she
said
,
“
you
believe
in
individual
love
,
even
if
you
don’t
believe
in
loving
humanity
—
?
”
“
I
don’t
believe
in
love
at
all
—
that
is
,
any
more
than
I
believe
in
hate
,
or
in
grief
.
Love
is
one
of
the
emotions
like
all
the
others
—
and
so
it
is
all
right
whilst
you
feel
it
.
But
I
can’t
see
how
it
becomes
an
absolute
.
It
is
just
part
of
human
relationships
,
no
more
.
And
it
is
only
part
of
any
human
relationship
.
And
why
one
should
be
required
always
to
feel
it
,
any
more
than
one
always
feels
sorrow
or
distant
joy
,
I
cannot
conceive
.
Love
isn’t
a
desideratum
—
it
is
an
emotion
you
feel
or
you
don’t
feel
,
according
to
circumstance
.
”
“
Then
why
do
you
care
about
people
at
all
?
”
she
asked
,
“
if
you
don’t
believe
in
love
?
Why
do
you
bother
about
humanity
?
”
“
Why
do
I
?
Because
I
can’t
get
away
from
it
.
”
“
Because
you
love
it
,
”
she
persisted
.
It
irritated
him
.
“
If
I
do
love
it
,
”
he
said
,
“
it
is
my
disease
.
”
“
But
it
is
a
disease
you
don’t
want
to
be
cured
of
,
”
she
said
,
with
some
cold
sneering
.
He
was
silent
now
,
feeling
she
wanted
to
insult
him
.
“
And
if
you
don’t
believe
in
love
,
what
do
you
believe
in
?
”
she
asked
mocking
.
“
Simply
in
the
end
of
the
world
,
and
grass
?
”
He
was
beginning
to
feel
a
fool
.
“
I
believe
in
the
unseen
hosts
,
”
he
said
.
“
And
nothing
else
?
You
believe
in
nothing
visible
,
except
grass
and
birds
?
Your
world
is
a
poor
show
.
”
“
Perhaps
it
is
,
”
he
said
,
cool
and
superior
now
he
was
offended
,
assuming
a
certain
insufferable
aloof
superiority
,
and
withdrawing
into
his
distance
.
Ursula
disliked
him
.
But
also
she
felt
she
had
lost
something
.
She
looked
at
him
as
he
sat
crouched
on
the
bank
.
There
was
a
certain
priggish
Sunday-school
stiffness
over
him
,
priggish
and
detestable
.
And
yet
,
at
the
same
time
,
the
moulding
of
him
was
so
quick
and
attractive
,
it
gave
such
a
great
sense
of
freedom
:
the
moulding
of
his
brows
,
his
chin
,
his
whole
physique
,
something
so
alive
,
somewhere
,
in
spite
of
the
look
of
sickness
.
And
it
was
this
duality
in
feeling
which
he
created
in
her
,
that
made
a
fine
hate
of
him
quicken
in
her
bowels
.
There
was
his
wonderful
,
desirable
life-rapidity
,
the
rare
quality
of
an
utterly
desirable
man
:
and
there
was
at
the
same
time
this
ridiculous
,
mean
effacement
into
a
Salvator
Mundi
and
a
Sunday-school
teacher
,
a
prig
of
the
stiffest
type
.
He
looked
up
at
her
.
He
saw
her
face
strangely
enkindled
,
as
if
suffused
from
within
by
a
powerful
sweet
fire
.
His
soul
was
arrested
in
wonder
.
She
was
enkindled
in
her
own
living
fire
.
Arrested
in
wonder
and
in
pure
,
perfect
attraction
,
he
moved
towards
her
.
She
sat
like
a
strange
queen
,
almost
supernatural
in
her
glowing
smiling
richness
.
“
The
point
about
love
,
”
he
said
,
his
consciousness
quickly
adjusting
itself
,
“
is
that
we
hate
the
word
because
we
have
vulgarised
it
.
It
ought
to
be
prescribed
,
tabooed
from
utterance
,
for
many
years
,
till
we
get
a
new
,
better
idea
.
”
There
was
a
beam
of
understanding
between
them
.
“
But
it
always
means
the
same
thing
,
”
she
said
.
“
Ah
God
,
no
,
let
it
not
mean
that
any
more
,
”
he
cried
.
“
Let
the
old
meanings
go
.
”
“
But
still
it
is
love
,
”
she
persisted
.
A
strange
,
wicked
yellow
light
shone
at
him
in
her
eyes
.
He
hesitated
,
baffled
,
withdrawing
.
“
No
,
”
he
said
,
“
it
isn’t
.
Spoken
like
that
,
never
in
the
world
.
You’ve
no
business
to
utter
the
word
.
”
“
I
must
leave
it
to
you
,
to
take
it
out
of
the
Ark
of
the
Covenant
at
the
right
moment
,
”
she
mocked
.
Again
they
looked
at
each
other
.
She
suddenly
sprang
up
,
turned
her
back
to
him
,
and
walked
away
.
He
too
rose
slowly
and
went
to
the
water’s
edge
,
where
,
crouching
,
he
began
to
amuse
himself
unconsciously
.
Picking
a
daisy
he
dropped
it
on
the
pond
,
so
that
the
stem
was
a
keel
,
the
flower
floated
like
a
little
water
lily
,
staring
with
its
open
face
up
to
the
sky
.
It
turned
slowly
round
,
in
a
slow
,
slow
Dervish
dance
,
as
it
veered
away
.
He
watched
it
,
then
dropped
another
daisy
into
the
water
,
and
after
that
another
,
and
sat
watching
them
with
bright
,
absolved
eyes
,
crouching
near
on
the
bank
.
Ursula
turned
to
look
.
A
strange
feeling
possessed
her
,
as
if
something
were
taking
place
.
But
it
was
all
intangible
.
And
some
sort
of
control
was
being
put
on
her
.
She
could
not
know
.
She
could
only
watch
the
brilliant
little
discs
of
the
daisies
veering
slowly
in
travel
on
the
dark
,
lustrous
water
.
The
little
flotilla
was
drifting
into
the
light
,
a
company
of
white
specks
in
the
distance
.
“
Do
let
us
go
to
the
shore
,
to
follow
them
,
”
she
said
,
afraid
of
being
any
longer
imprisoned
on
the
island
.
And
they
pushed
off
in
the
punt
.
She
was
glad
to
be
on
the
free
land
again
.
She
went
along
the
bank
towards
the
sluice
.
The
daisies
were
scattered
broadcast
on
the
pond
,
tiny
radiant
things
,
like
an
exaltation
,
points
of
exaltation
here
and
there
.
Why
did
they
move
her
so
strongly
and
mystically
?
“
Look
,
”
he
said
,
“
your
boat
of
purple
paper
is
escorting
them
,
and
they
are
a
convoy
of
rafts
.
”
Some
of
the
daisies
came
slowly
towards
her
,
hesitating
,
making
a
shy
bright
little
cotillion
on
the
dark
clear
water
.
Their
gay
bright
candour
moved
her
so
much
as
they
came
near
,
that
she
was
almost
in
tears
.
“
Why
are
they
so
lovely
,
”
she
cried
.
“
Why
do
I
think
them
so
lovely
?
”
“
They
are
nice
flowers
,
”
he
said
,
her
emotional
tones
putting
a
constraint
on
him
.
“
You
know
that
a
daisy
is
a
company
of
florets
,
a
concourse
,
become
individual
.
Don’t
the
botanists
put
it
highest
in
the
line
of
development
?
I
believe
they
do
.
”
“
The
compositæ
,
yes
,
I
think
so
,
”
said
Ursula
,
who
was
never
very
sure
of
anything
.
Things
she
knew
perfectly
well
,
at
one
moment
,
seemed
to
become
doubtful
the
next
.
“
Explain
it
so
,
then
,
”
he
said
.
“
The
daisy
is
a
perfect
little
democracy
,
so
it’s
the
highest
of
flowers
,
hence
its
charm
.
”
“
No
,
”
she
cried
,
“
no
—
never
.
It
isn’t
democratic
.
”
“
No
,
”
he
admitted
.
“
It’s
the
golden
mob
of
the
proletariat
,
surrounded
by
a
showy
white
fence
of
the
idle
rich
.
”
“
How
hateful
—
your
hateful
social
orders
!
”
she
cried
.
“
Quite
!
It’s
a
daisy
—
we’ll
leave
it
alone
.
”
“
Do
.
Let
it
be
a
dark
horse
for
once
,
”
she
said
:
“
if
anything
can
be
a
dark
horse
to
you
,
”
she
added
satirically
.
They
stood
aside
,
forgetful
.
As
if
a
little
stunned
,
they
both
were
motionless
,
barely
conscious
.
The
little
conflict
into
which
they
had
fallen
had
torn
their
consciousness
and
left
them
like
two
impersonal
forces
,
there
in
contact
.
He
became
aware
of
the
lapse
.
He
wanted
to
say
something
,
to
get
on
to
a
new
more
ordinary
footing
.
“
You
know
,
”
he
said
,
“
that
I
am
having
rooms
here
at
the
mill
?
Don’t
you
think
we
can
have
some
good
times
?
”
“
Oh
are
you
?
”
she
said
,
ignoring
all
his
implication
of
admitted
intimacy
.
He
adjusted
himself
at
once
,
became
normally
distant
.
“
If
I
find
I
can
live
sufficiently
by
myself
,
”
he
continued
,
“
I
shall
give
up
my
work
altogether
.
It
has
become
dead
to
me
.
I
don’t
believe
in
the
humanity
I
pretend
to
be
part
of
,
I
don’t
care
a
straw
for
the
social
ideals
I
live
by
,
I
hate
the
dying
organic
form
of
social
mankind
—
so
it
can’t
be
anything
but
trumpery
,
to
work
at
education
.
I
shall
drop
it
as
soon
as
I
am
clear
enough
—
tomorrow
perhaps
—
and
be
by
myself
.
”
“
Have
you
enough
to
live
on
?
”
asked
Ursula
.
“
Yes
—
I’ve
about
four
hundred
a
year
.
That
makes
it
easy
for
me
.
”
There
was
a
pause
.
“
And
what
about
Hermione
?
”
asked
Ursula
.
“
That’s
over
,
finally
—
a
pure
failure
,
and
never
could
have
been
anything
else
.
”
“
But
you
still
know
each
other
?
”
“
We
could
hardly
pretend
to
be
strangers
,
could
we
?
”
There
was
a
stubborn
pause
.
“
But
isn’t
that
a
half-measure
?
”
asked
Ursula
at
length
.
“
I
don’t
think
so
,
”
he
said
.
“
You’ll
be
able
to
tell
me
if
it
is
.
”
Again
there
was
a
pause
of
some
minutes’
duration
.
He
was
thinking
.
“
One
must
throw
everything
away
,
everything
—
let
everything
go
,
to
get
the
one
last
thing
one
wants
,
”
he
said
.
“
What
thing
?
”
she
asked
in
challenge
.
“
I
don’t
know
—
freedom
together
,
”
he
said
.
She
had
wanted
him
to
say
‘love.’
There
was
heard
a
loud
barking
of
the
dogs
below
.
He
seemed
disturbed
by
it
.
She
did
not
notice
.
Only
she
thought
he
seemed
uneasy
.
“
As
a
matter
of
fact
,
”
he
said
,
in
rather
a
small
voice
,
“
I
believe
that
is
Hermione
come
now
,
with
Gerald
Crich
.
She
wanted
to
see
the
rooms
before
they
are
furnished
.
”
“
I
know
,
”
said
Ursula
.
“
She
will
superintend
the
furnishing
for
you
.
”
“
Probably
.
Does
it
matter
?
”
“
Oh
no
,
I
should
think
not
,
”
said
Ursula
.
“
Though
personally
,
I
can’t
bear
her
.
I
think
she
is
a
lie
,
if
you
like
,
you
who
are
always
talking
about
lies
.
”
Then
she
ruminated
for
a
moment
,
when
she
broke
out
:
“
Yes
,
and
I
do
mind
if
she
furnishes
your
rooms
—
I
do
mind
.
I
mind
that
you
keep
her
hanging
on
at
all
.
”
He
was
silent
now
,
frowning
.
“
Perhaps
,
”
he
said
.
“
I
don’t
want
her
to
furnish
the
rooms
here
—
and
I
don’t
keep
her
hanging
on
.
Only
,
I
needn’t
be
churlish
to
her
,
need
I
?
At
any
rate
,
I
shall
have
to
go
down
and
see
them
now
.
You’ll
come
,
won’t
you
?
”
“
I
don’t
think
so
,
”
she
said
coldly
and
irresolutely
.
“
Won’t
you
?
Yes
do
.
Come
and
see
the
rooms
as
well
.
Do
come
.
”
CHAPTER
XII
.
CARPETING
He
set
off
down
the
bank
,
and
she
went
unwillingly
with
him
.
Yet
she
would
not
have
stayed
away
,
either
.
“
We
know
each
other
well
,
you
and
I
,
already
,
”
he
said
.
She
did
not
answer
.
In
the
large
darkish
kitchen
of
the
mill
,
the
labourer’s
wife
was
talking
shrilly
to
Hermione
and
Gerald
,
who
stood
,
he
in
white
and
she
in
a
glistening
bluish
foulard
,
strangely
luminous
in
the
dusk
of
the
room
;
whilst
from
the
cages
on
the
walls
,
a
dozen
or
more
canaries
sang
at
the
top
of
their
voices
.
The
cages
were
all
placed
round
a
small
square
window
at
the
back
,
where
the
sunshine
came
in
,
a
beautiful
beam
,
filtering
through
green
leaves
of
a
tree
.
The
voice
of
Mrs
Salmon
shrilled
against
the
noise
of
the
birds
,
which
rose
ever
more
wild
and
triumphant
,
and
the
woman’s
voice
went
up
and
up
against
them
,
and
the
birds
replied
with
wild
animation
.
“
Here’s
Rupert
!
”
shouted
Gerald
in
the
midst
of
the
din
.
He
was
suffering
badly
,
being
very
sensitive
in
the
ear
.
“
O-o-h
them
birds
,
they
won’t
let
you
speak
—
!
”
shrilled
the
labourer’s
wife
in
disgust
.
“
I’ll
cover
them
up
.
”
And
she
darted
here
and
there
,
throwing
a
duster
,
an
apron
,
a
towel
,
a
table-cloth
over
the
cages
of
the
birds
.
“
Now
will
you
stop
it
,
and
let
a
body
speak
for
your
row
,
”
she
said
,
still
in
a
voice
that
was
too
high
.
The
party
watched
her
.
Soon
the
cages
were
covered
,
they
had
a
strange
funereal
look
.
But
from
under
the
towels
odd
defiant
trills
and
bubblings
still
shook
out
.
“
Oh
,
they
won’t
go
on
,
”
said
Mrs
Salmon
reassuringly
.
“
They’ll
go
to
sleep
now
.
”
“
Really
,
”
said
Hermione
,
politely
.
“
They
will
,
”
said
Gerald
.
“
They
will
go
to
sleep
automatically
,
now
the
impression
of
evening
is
produced
.
”
“
Are
they
so
easily
deceived
?
”
cried
Ursula
.
“
Oh
,
yes
,
”
replied
Gerald
.
“
Don’t
you
know
the
story
of
Fabre
,
who
,
when
he
was
a
boy
,
put
a
hen’s
head
under
her
wing
,
and
she
straight
away
went
to
sleep
?
It’s
quite
true
.
”
“
And
did
that
make
him
a
naturalist
?
”
asked
Birkin
.
“
Probably
,
”
said
Gerald
.
Meanwhile
Ursula
was
peeping
under
one
of
the
cloths
.
There
sat
the
canary
in
a
corner
,
bunched
and
fluffed
up
for
sleep
.
“
How
ridiculous
!
”
she
cried
.
“
It
really
thinks
the
night
has
come
!
How
absurd
!
Really
,
how
can
one
have
any
respect
for
a
creature
that
is
so
easily
taken
in
!
”
“
Yes
,
”
sang
Hermione
,
coming
also
to
look
.
She
put
her
hand
on
Ursula’s
arm
and
chuckled
a
low
laugh
.
“
Yes
,
doesn’t
he
look
comical
?
”
she
chuckled
.
“
Like
a
stupid
husband
.
”
Then
,
with
her
hand
still
on
Ursula’s
arm
,
she
drew
her
away
,
saying
,
in
her
mild
sing-song
:
“
How
did
you
come
here
?
We
saw
Gudrun
too
.
”
“
I
came
to
look
at
the
pond
,
”
said
Ursula
,
“
and
I
found
Mr
Birkin
there
.
”
“
Did
you
?
This
is
quite
a
Brangwen
land
,
isn’t
it
!
”
“
I’m
afraid
I
hoped
so
,
”
said
Ursula
.
“
I
ran
here
for
refuge
,
when
I
saw
you
down
the
lake
,
just
putting
off
.
”
“
Did
you
!
And
now
we’ve
run
you
to
earth
.
”
Hermione’s
eyelids
lifted
with
an
uncanny
movement
,
amused
but
overwrought
.
She
had
always
her
strange
,
rapt
look
,
unnatural
and
irresponsible
.
“
I
was
going
on
,
”
said
Ursula
.
“
Mr
Birkin
wanted
me
to
see
the
rooms
.
Isn’t
it
delightful
to
live
here
?
It
is
perfect
.
”
“
Yes
,
”
said
Hermione
,
abstractedly
.
Then
she
turned
right
away
from
Ursula
,
ceased
to
know
her
existence
.
“
How
do
you
feel
,
Rupert
?
”
she
sang
in
a
new
,
affectionate
tone
,
to
Birkin
.
“
Very
well
,
”
he
replied
.
“
Were
you
quite
comfortable
?
”
The
curious
,
sinister
,
rapt
look
was
on
Hermione’s
face
,
she
shrugged
her
bosom
in
a
convulsed
movement
,
and
seemed
like
one
half
in
a
trance
.
“
Quite
comfortable
,
”
he
replied
.
There
was
a
long
pause
,
whilst
Hermione
looked
at
him
for
a
long
time
,
from
under
her
heavy
,
drugged
eyelids
.
“
And
you
think
you’ll
be
happy
here
?
”
she
said
at
last
.
“
I’m
sure
I
shall
.
”
“
I’m
sure
I
shall
do
anything
for
him
as
I
can
,
”
said
the
labourer’s
wife
.
“
And
I’m
sure
our
master
will
;
so
I
hope
he’ll
find
himself
comfortable
.
”
Hermione
turned
and
looked
at
her
slowly
.
“
Thank
you
so
much
,
”
she
said
,
and
then
she
turned
completely
away
again
.
She
recovered
her
position
,
and
lifting
her
face
towards
him
,
and
addressing
him
exclusively
,
she
said
:
“
Have
you
measured
the
rooms
?
”
“
No
,
”
he
said
,
“
I’ve
been
mending
the
punt
.
”
“
Shall
we
do
it
now
?
”
she
said
slowly
,
balanced
and
dispassionate
.
“
Have
you
got
a
tape
measure
,
Mrs
Salmon
?
”
he
said
,
turning
to
the
