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'But third'll be all right. There's a restaurant car, we can have some tea. The two men looked at the station clock, having nothing further to say. 'What were you reading in the paper? Birkin asked. Gerald looked at him quickly. 'Isn't it funny, what they DO put in the newspapers, he said.
'There's the bath-room now, if you want it, he said generally, and was going away again, when Gerald called: 'I say, Rupert! 'What? The single white figure appeared again, a presence in the room. 'What do you think of that figure there? I want to know, Gerald asked. Birkin, white and strangely ghostly, went over to the carved figure of the negro woman in labour.
Each acknowledges the perfection of the polarised sex-circuit. Each admits the different nature in the other. So Birkin meditated whilst he was ill. He liked sometimes to be ill enough to take to his bed. For then he got better very quickly, and things came to him clear and sure. Whilst he was laid up, Gerald came to see him. The two men had a deep, uneasy feeling for each other.
'No, really I can't, responded Gudrun's pathetic, chagrined words out of the dusk. 'All right, are you? called Birkin. 'Quite! said Gudrun. 'Good-night! 'Good-night, they called. 'Come whenever you like, we shall be glad, called Birkin. 'Thank you very much, called Gudrun, in the strange, twanging voice of lonely chagrin that was very puzzling to him.
'No reason at all, said Gerald, 'if it really works. But whom will you marry? 'A woman, said Birkin. 'Good, said Gerald. Birkin and Gerald were the last to come down to breakfast. Hermione liked everybody to be early. She suffered when she felt her day was diminished, she felt she had missed her life. She seemed to grip the hours by the throat, to force her life from them.
For I certainly think it was quite uncalled-for, and quite unjustified. 'I suppose it was a sudden impulse. 'Yes, but how do you account for her having such an impulse? I'd done her no harm. Birkin shook his head. 'The Amazon suddenly came up in her, I suppose, he said. 'Well, replied Gerald, 'I'd rather it had been the Orinoco. They both laughed at the poor joke.
But one feels the account is left open, and one would rather it were closed. 'Would you? said Birkin. He was looking at the white legs of Gerald, as the latter sat on the side of the bed in his shirt. They were white-skinned, full, muscular legs, handsome and decided. Yet they moved Birkin with a sort of pathos, tenderness, as if they were childish.
'It HAS been a depressing day, said Mrs Brangwen sympathetically. At that moment the voices of the children were heard calling from upstairs: 'Mother! Mother! She lifted her face and answered mildly into the distance: 'I shall come up to you in a minute, Doysie. Then to Birkin: 'There is nothing fresh at Shortlands, I suppose? Ah, she sighed, 'no, poor things, I should think not.
I don't believe in your new-fangled ways and new-fangled ideas in and out like a frog in a gallipot. It would never do for me. Birkin watched him with steady emotionless eyes. The radical antagnoism in the two men was rousing. 'Yes, but are my ways and ideas new-fangled? asked Birkin. 'Are they? Brangwen caught himself up. 'I'm not speaking of you in particular, he said.
It was strange how inviolable was the intimacy which existed between him and Hermione. Ursula felt that she was an outsider. The very tea-cups and the old silver was a bond between Hermione and Birkin. It seemed to belong to an old, past world which they had inhabited together, and in which Ursula was a foreigner. She was almost a parvenue in their old cultured milieu.
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