Women in Love  by D .  H .  Lawrence  London , Martin Secker  Number five John Street Adelphi  CHAPTER I .  SISTERS  Ursula and Gudrun Brangwen sat one morning in the window-bay of their father’s house in Beldover , working and talking .  Ursula was stitching a piece of brightly-coloured embroidery , and Gudrun was drawing upon a board which she held on her knee .  They were mostly silent , talking as their thoughts strayed through their minds .  “ Ursula , ” said Gudrun , “ don’t you really want to get married ?  ” Ursula laid her embroidery in her lap and looked up .  Her face was calm and considerate .  “ I don’t know , ” she replied .  “ It depends how you mean .  ”  Gudrun was slightly taken aback .  She watched her sister for some moments .  “ Well , ” she said , ironically , “ it usually means one thing !  But don’t you think anyhow , you’d be — ” she darkened slightly — “ in a better position than you are in now .  ”  A shadow came over Ursula’s face .  “ I might , ” she said .  “ But I’m not sure .  ”  Again Gudrun paused , slightly irritated .  She wanted to be quite definite .  “ You don’t think one needs the experience of having been married ?  ” she asked .  “ Do you think it need be an experience ?  ” replied Ursula .  “ Bound to be , in some way or other , ” said Gudrun , coolly .  “ Possibly undesirable , but bound to be an experience of some sort .  ”  “ Not really , ” said Ursula .  “ More likely to be the end of experience .  ”  Gudrun sat very still , to attend to this .  “ Of course , ” she said , “ there’s that to consider .  ” This brought the conversation to a close .  Gudrun , almost angrily , took up her rubber and began to rub out part of her drawing .  Ursula stitched absorbedly .  “ You wouldn’t consider a good offer ?  ” asked Gudrun .  “ I think I’ve rejected several , ” said Ursula .  “ Really ! ” Gudrun flushed dark — “ But anything really worth while ?  Have you really ? ”  “ A thousand a year , and an awfully nice man .  I liked him awfully , ” said Ursula .  “ Really !  But weren’t you fearfully tempted ?  ”  “ In the abstract but not in the concrete , ” said Ursula .  “ When it comes to the point , one isn’t even tempted — oh , if I were tempted , I’d marry like a shot .  I’m only tempted not to .  ” The faces of both sisters suddenly lit up with amusement .  “ Isn’t it an amazing thing , ” cried Gudrun , “ how strong the temptation is , not to !  ” They both laughed , looking at each other .  In their hearts they were frightened .  There was a long pause , whilst Ursula stitched and Gudrun went on with her sketch .  The sisters were women , Ursula twenty-six , and Gudrun twenty-five .  But both had the remote , virgin look of modern girls , sisters of Artemis rather than of Hebe .  Gudrun was very beautiful , passive , soft-skinned , soft-limbed .  She wore a dress of dark-blue silky stuff , with ruches of blue and green linen lace in the neck and sleeves ; and she had emerald-green stockings .  Her look of confidence and diffidence contrasted with Ursula’s sensitive expectancy .  The provincial people , intimidated by Gudrun’s perfect sang-froid and exclusive bareness of manner , said of her : “ She is a smart woman .  ” She had just come back from London , where she had spent several years , working at an art-school , as a student , and living a studio life .  “ I was hoping now for a man to come along , ” Gudrun said , suddenly catching her underlip between her teeth , and making a strange grimace , half sly smiling , half anguish .  Ursula was afraid .  “ So you have come home , expecting him here ?  ” she laughed .  “ Oh my dear , ” cried Gudrun , strident , “ I wouldn’t go out of my way to look for him .  But if there did happen to come along a highly attractive individual of sufficient means — well — ” she tailed off ironically .  Then she looked searchingly at Ursula , as if to probe her .  “ Don’t you find yourself getting bored ?  ” she asked of her sister .  “ Don’t you find , that things fail to materialize ?  Nothing materializes ! Everything withers in the bud .  ”  “ What withers in the bud ?  ” asked Ursula .  “ Oh , everything — oneself — things in general .  ” There was a pause , whilst each sister vaguely considered her fate .  “ It does frighten one , ” said Ursula , and again there was a pause .  “ But do you hope to get anywhere by just marrying ?  ”  “ It seems to be the inevitable next step , ” said Gudrun .  Ursula pondered this , with a little bitterness .  She was a class mistress herself , in Willey Green Grammar School , as she had been for some years .  “ I know , ” she said , “ it seems like that when one thinks in the abstract .  But really imagine it : imagine any man one knows , imagine him coming home to one every evening , and saying ‘Hello , ’ and giving one a kiss — ”  There was a blank pause .  “ Yes , ” said Gudrun , in a narrowed voice .  “ It’s just impossible .  The man makes it impossible .  ”  “ Of course there’s children — ” said Ursula doubtfully .  Gudrun’s face hardened .  “ Do you really want children , Ursula ?  ” she asked coldly .  A dazzled , baffled look came on Ursula’s face .  “ One feels it is still beyond one , ” she said .  “ Do you feel like that ?  ” asked Gudrun .  “ I get no feeling whatever from the thought of bearing children .  ”  Gudrun looked at Ursula with a masklike , expressionless face .  Ursula knitted her brows .  “ Perhaps it isn’t genuine , ” she faltered .  “ Perhaps one doesn’t really want them , in one’s soul — only superficially .  ” A hardness came over Gudrun’s face .  She did not want to be too definite .  “ When one thinks of other people’s children — ” said Ursula .  Again Gudrun looked at her sister , almost hostile .  “ Exactly , ” she said , to close the conversation .  The two sisters worked on in silence , Ursula having always that strange brightness of an essential flame that is caught , meshed , contravened .  She lived a good deal by herself , to herself , working , passing on from day to day , and always thinking , trying to lay hold on life , to grasp it in her own understanding .  Her active living was suspended , but underneath , in the darkness , something was coming to pass .  If only she could break through the last integuments !  She seemed to try and put her hands out , like an infant in the womb , and she could not , not yet .  Still she had a strange prescience , an intimation of something yet to come .  She laid down her work and looked at her sister .  She thought Gudrun so charming , so infinitely charming , in her softness and her fine , exquisite richness of texture and delicacy of line .  There was a certain playfulness about her too , such a piquancy or ironic suggestion , such an untouched reserve .  Ursula admired her with all her soul .  “ Why did you come home , Prune ?  ” she asked .  Gudrun knew she was being admired .  She sat back from her drawing and looked at Ursula , from under her finely-curved lashes .  “ Why did I come back , Ursula ?  ” she repeated .  “ I have asked myself a thousand times .  ”  “ And don’t you know ?  ”  “ Yes , I think I do .  I think my coming back home was just reculer pour mieux sauter .  ”  And she looked with a long , slow look of knowledge at Ursula .  “ I know !  ” cried Ursula , looking slightly dazzled and falsified , and as if she did not know .  “ But where can one jump to ?  ”  “ Oh , it doesn’t matter , ” said Gudrun , somewhat superbly .  “ If one jumps over the edge , one is bound to land somewhere .  ”  “ But isn’t it very risky ?  ” asked Ursula .  A slow mocking smile dawned on Gudrun’s face .  “ Ah !  ” she said laughing .  “ What is it all but words !  ” And so again she closed the conversation .  But Ursula was still brooding .  “ And how do you find home , now you have come back to it ?  ” she asked .  Gudrun paused for some moments , coldly , before answering .  Then , in a cold truthful voice , she said :  “ I find myself completely out of it .  ”  “ And father ?  ”  Gudrun looked at Ursula , almost with resentment , as if brought to bay .  “ I haven’t thought about him : I’ve refrained , ” she said coldly .  “ Yes , ” wavered Ursula ; and the conversation was really at an end .  The sisters found themselves confronted by a void , a terrifying chasm , as if they had looked over the edge .  They worked on in silence for some time , Gudrun’s cheek was flushed with repressed emotion .  She resented its having been called into being .  “ Shall we go out and look at that wedding ?  ” she asked at length , in a voice that was too casual .  “ Yes !  ” cried Ursula , too eagerly , throwing aside her sewing and leaping up , as if to escape something , thus betraying the tension of the situation and causing a friction of dislike to go over Gudrun’s nerves .  As she went upstairs , Ursula was aware of the house , of her home round about her .  And she loathed it , the sordid , too-familiar place !  She was afraid at the depth of her feeling against the home , the milieu , the whole atmosphere and condition of this obsolete life .  Her feeling frightened her .  The two girls were soon walking swiftly down the main road of Beldover , a wide street , part shops , part dwelling-houses , utterly formless and sordid , without poverty .  Gudrun , new from her life in Chelsea and Sussex , shrank cruelly from this amorphous ugliness of a small colliery town in the Midlands .  Yet forward she went , through the whole sordid gamut of pettiness , the long amorphous , gritty street .  She was exposed to every stare , she passed on through a stretch of torment .  It was strange that she should have chosen to come back and test the full effect of this shapeless , barren ugliness upon herself .  Why had she wanted to submit herself to it , did she still want to submit herself to it , the insufferable torture of these ugly , meaningless people , this defaced countryside ?  She felt like a beetle toiling in the dust .  She was filled with repulsion .  They turned off the main road , past a black patch of common-garden , where sooty cabbage stumps stood shameless .  No one thought to be ashamed .  No one was ashamed of it all .  “ It is like a country in an underworld , ” said Gudrun .  “ The colliers bring it above-ground with them , shovel it up .  Ursula , it’s marvellous , it’s really marvellous — it’s really wonderful , another world .  The people are all ghouls , and everything is ghostly .  Everything is a ghoulish replica of the real world , a replica , a ghoul , all soiled , everything sordid .  It’s like being mad , Ursula .  ”  The sisters were crossing a black path through a dark , soiled field .  On the left was a large landscape , a valley with collieries , and opposite hills with cornfields and woods , all blackened with distance , as if seen through a veil of crape .  White and black smoke rose up in steady columns , magic within the dark air .  Near at hand came the long rows of dwellings , approaching curved up the hill-slope , in straight lines along the brow of the hill .  They were of darkened red brick , brittle , with dark slate roofs .  The path on which the sisters walked was black , trodden-in by the feet of the recurrent colliers , and bounded from the field by iron fences ; the stile that led again into the road was rubbed shiny by the moleskins of the passing miners .  Now the two girls were going between some rows of dwellings , of the poorer sort .  Women , their arms folded over their coarse aprons , standing gossiping at the end of their block , stared after the Brangwen sisters with that long , unwearying stare of aborigines ; children called out names .  Gudrun went on her way half dazed .  If this were human life , if these were human beings , living in a complete world , then what was her own world , outside ?  She was aware of her grass-green stockings , her large grass-green velour hat , her full soft coat , of a strong blue colour .  And she felt as if she were treading in the air , quite unstable , her heart was contracted , as if at any minute she might be precipitated to the ground .  She was afraid .  She clung to Ursula , who , through long usage was inured to this violation of a dark , uncreated , hostile world .  But all the time her heart was crying , as if in the midst of some ordeal : “ I want to go back , I want to go away , I want not to know it , not to know that this exists .  ” Yet she must go forward .  Ursula could feel her suffering .  “ You hate this , don’t you ?  ” she asked .  “ It bewilders me , ” stammered Gudrun .  “ You won’t stay long , ” replied Ursula .  And Gudrun went along , grasping at release .  They drew away from the colliery region , over the curve of the hill , into the purer country of the other side , towards Willey Green .  Still the faint glamour of blackness persisted over the fields and the wooded hills , and seemed darkly to gleam in the air .  It was a spring day , chill , with snatches of sunshine .  Yellow celandines showed out from the hedge-bottoms , and in the cottage gardens of Willey Green , currant-bushes were breaking into leaf , and little flowers were coming white on the grey alyssum that hung over the stone walls .  Turning , they passed down the high-road , that went between high banks towards the church .  There , in the lowest bend of the road , low under the trees , stood a little group of expectant people , waiting to see the wedding .  The daughter of the chief mine-owner of the district , Thomas Crich , was getting married to a naval officer .  “ Let us go back , ” said Gudrun , swerving away .  “ There are all those people .  ”  And she hung wavering in the road .  “ Never mind them , ” said Ursula , “ they’re all right .  They all know me , they don’t matter .  ”  “ But must we go through them ?  ” asked Gudrun .  “ They’re quite all right , really , ” said Ursula , going forward .  And together the two sisters approached the group of uneasy , watchful common people .  They were chiefly women , colliers’ wives of the more shiftless sort .  They had watchful , underworld faces .  The two sisters held themselves tense , and went straight towards the gate .  The women made way for them , but barely sufficient , as if grudging to yield ground .  The sisters passed in silence through the stone gateway and up the steps , on the red carpet , a policeman estimating their progress .  “ What price the stockings !  ” said a voice at the back of Gudrun .  A sudden fierce anger swept over the girl , violent and murderous .  She would have liked them all annihilated , cleared away , so that the world was left clear for her .  How she hated walking up the churchyard path , along the red carpet , continuing in motion , in their sight .  “ I won’t go into the church , ” she said suddenly , with such final decision that Ursula immediately halted , turned round , and branched off up a small side path which led to the little private gate of the Grammar School , whose grounds adjoined those of the church .  Just inside the gate of the school shrubbery , outside the churchyard , Ursula sat down for a moment on the low stone wall under the laurel bushes , to rest .  Behind her , the large red building of the school rose up peacefully , the windows all open for the holiday .  Over the shrubs , before her , were the pale roofs and tower of the old church .  The sisters were hidden by the foliage .  Gudrun sat down in silence .  Her mouth was shut close , her face averted .  She was regretting bitterly that she had ever come back .  Ursula looked at her , and thought how amazingly beautiful she was , flushed with discomfiture .  But she caused a constraint over Ursula’s nature , a certain weariness .  Ursula wished to be alone , freed from the tightness , the enclosure of Gudrun’s presence .  “ Are we going to stay here ?  ” asked Gudrun .  “ I was only resting a minute , ” said Ursula , getting up as if rebuked .  “ We will stand in the corner by the fives-court , we shall see everything from there .  ”  For the moment , the sunshine fell brightly into the churchyard , there was a vague scent of sap and of spring , perhaps of violets from off the graves .  Some white daisies were out , bright as angels .  In the air , the unfolding leaves of a copper-beech were blood-red .  Punctually at eleven o’clock , the carriages began to arrive .  There was a stir in the crowd at the gate , a concentration as a carriage drove up , wedding guests were mounting up the steps and passing along the red carpet to the church .  They were all gay and excited because the sun was shining .  Gudrun watched them closely , with objective curiosity .  She saw each one as a complete figure , like a character in a book , or a subject in a picture , or a marionette in a theatre , a finished creation .  She loved to recognise their various characteristics , to place them in their true light , give them their own surroundings , settle them for ever as they passed before her along the path to the church .  She knew them , they were finished , sealed and stamped and finished with , for her .  There was none that had anything unknown , unresolved , until the Criches themselves began to appear .  Then her interest was piqued .  Here was something not quite so preconcluded .  There came the mother , Mrs Crich , with her eldest son Gerald .  She was a queer unkempt figure , in spite of the attempts that had obviously been made to bring her into line for the day .  Her face was pale , yellowish , with a clear , transparent skin , she leaned forward rather , her features were strongly marked , handsome , with a tense , unseeing , predative look .  Her colourless hair was untidy , wisps floating down on to her sac coat of dark blue silk , from under her blue silk hat .  She looked like a woman with a monomania , furtive almost , but heavily proud .  Her son was of a fair , sun-tanned type , rather above middle height , well-made , and almost exaggeratedly well-dressed .  But about him also was the strange , guarded look , the unconscious glisten , as if he did not belong to the same creation as the people about him .  Gudrun lighted on him at once .  There was something northern about him that magnetised her .  In his clear northern flesh and his fair hair was a glisten like sunshine refracted through crystals of ice .  And he looked so new , unbroached , pure as an arctic thing .  Perhaps he was thirty years old , perhaps more .  His gleaming beauty , maleness , like a young , good-humoured , smiling wolf , did not blind her to the significant , sinister stillness in his bearing , the lurking danger of his unsubdued temper .  “ His totem is the wolf , ” she repeated to herself .  “ His mother is an old , unbroken wolf .  ” And then she experienced a keen paroxyism , a transport , as if she had made some incredible discovery , known to nobody else on earth .  A strange transport took possession of her , all her veins were in a paroxysm of violent sensation .  “ Good God !  ” she exclaimed to herself , “ what is this ?  ” And then , a moment after , she was saying assuredly , “ I shall know more of that man .  ” She was tortured with desire to see him again , a nostalgia , a necessity to see him again , to make sure it was not all a mistake , that she was not deluding herself , that she really felt this strange and overwhelming sensation on his account , this knowledge of him in her essence , this powerful apprehension of him .  “ Am I really singled out for him in some way , is there really some pale gold , arctic light that envelopes only us two ?  ” she asked herself .  And she could not believe it , she remained in a muse , scarcely conscious of what was going on around .  The bridesmaids were here , and yet the bridegroom had not come .  Ursula wondered if something was amiss , and if the wedding would yet all go wrong .  She felt troubled , as if it rested upon her .  The chief bridesmaids had arrived .  Ursula watched them come up the steps .  One of them she knew , a tall , slow , reluctant woman with a weight of fair hair and a pale , long face .  This was Hermione Roddice , a friend of the Criches .  Now she came along , with her head held up , balancing an enormous flat hat of pale yellow velvet , on which were streaks of ostrich feathers , natural and grey .  She drifted forward as if scarcely conscious , her long blanched face lifted up , not to see the world .  She was rich .  She wore a dress of silky , frail velvet , of pale yellow colour , and she carried a lot of small rose-coloured cyclamens .  Her shoes and stockings were of brownish grey , like the feathers on her hat , her hair was heavy , she drifted along with a peculiar fixity of the hips , a strange unwilling motion .  She was impressive , in her lovely pale-yellow and brownish-rose , yet macabre , something repulsive .  People were silent when she passed , impressed , roused , wanting to jeer , yet for some reason silenced .  Her long , pale face , that she carried lifted up , somewhat in the Rossetti fashion , seemed almost drugged , as if a strange mass of thoughts coiled in the darkness within her , and she was never allowed to escape .  Ursula watched her with fascination .  She knew her a little .  She was the most remarkable woman in the Midlands .  Her father was a Derbyshire Baronet of the old school , she was a woman of the new school , full of intellectuality , and heavy , nerve-worn with consciousness .  She was passionately interested in reform , her soul was given up to the public cause .  But she was a man’s woman , it was the manly world that held her .  She had various intimacies of mind and soul with various men of capacity .  Ursula knew , among these men , only Rupert Birkin , who was one of the school-inspectors of the county .  But Gudrun had met others , in London .  Moving with her artist friends in different kinds of society , Gudrun had already come to know a good many people of repute and standing .  She had met Hermione twice , but they did not take to each other .  It would be queer to meet again down here in the Midlands , where their social standing was so diverse , after they had known each other on terms of equality in the houses of sundry acquaintances in town .  For Gudrun had been a social success , and had her friends among the slack aristocracy that keeps touch with the arts .  Hermione knew herself to be well-dressed ; she knew herself to be the social equal , if not far the superior , of anyone she was likely to meet in Willey Green .  She knew she was accepted in the world of culture and of intellect .  She was a Kulturträger , a medium for the culture of ideas .  With all that was highest , whether in society or in thought or in public action , or even in art , she was at one , she moved among the foremost , at home with them .  No one could put her down , no one could make mock of her , because she stood among the first , and those that were against her were below her , either in rank , or in wealth , or in high association of thought and progress and understanding .  So , she was invulnerable .  All her life , she had sought to make herself invulnerable , unassailable , beyond reach of the world’s judgment .  And yet her soul was tortured , exposed .  Even walking up the path to the church , confident as she was that in every respect she stood beyond all vulgar judgment , knowing perfectly that her appearance was complete and perfect , according to the first standards , yet she suffered a torture , under her confidence and her pride , feeling herself exposed to wounds and to mockery and to despite .  She always felt vulnerable , vulnerable , there was always a secret chink in her armour .  She did not know herself what it was .  It was a lack of robust self , she had no natural sufficiency , there was a terrible void , a lack , a deficiency of being within her .  And she wanted someone to close up this deficiency , to close it up for ever .  She craved for Rupert Birkin .  When he was there , she felt complete , she was sufficient , whole .  For the rest of time she was established on the sand , built over a chasm , and , in spite of all her vanity and securities , any common maid-servant of positive , robust temper could fling her down this bottomless pit of insufficiency , by the slightest movement of jeering or contempt .  And all the while the pensive , tortured woman piled up her own defences of æsthetic knowledge , and culture , and world-visions , and disinterestedness .  Yet she could never stop up the terrible gap of insufficiency .  If only Birkin would form a close and abiding connection with her , she would be safe during this fretful voyage of life .  He could make her sound and triumphant , triumphant over the very angels of heaven .  If only he would do it !  But she was tortured with fear , with misgiving .  She made herself beautiful , she strove so hard to come to that degree of beauty and advantage , when he should be convinced .  But always there was a deficiency .  He was perverse too .  He fought her off , he always fought her off .  The more she strove to bring him to her , the more he battled her back .  And they had been lovers now , for years .  Oh , it was so wearying , so aching ; she was so tired .  But still she believed in herself .  She knew he was trying to leave her .  She knew he was trying to break away from her finally , to be free .  But still she believed in her strength to keep him , she believed in her own higher knowledge .  His own knowledge was high , she was the central touchstone of truth .  She only needed his conjunction with her .  And this , this conjunction with her , which was his highest fulfilment also , with the perverseness of a wilful child he wanted to deny .  With the wilfulness of an obstinate child , he wanted to break the holy connection that was between them .  He would be at this wedding ; he was to be groom’s man .  He would be in the church , waiting .  He would know when she came .  She shuddered with nervous apprehension and desire as she went through the church-door .  He would be there , surely he would see how beautiful her dress was , surely he would see how she had made herself beautiful for him .  He would understand , he would be able to see how she was made for him , the first , how she was , for him , the highest .  Surely at last he would be able to accept his highest fate , he would not deny her .  In a little convulsion of too-tired yearning , she entered the church and looked slowly along her cheeks for him , her slender body convulsed with agitation .  As best man , he would be standing beside the altar .  She looked slowly , deferring in her certainty .  And then , he was not there .  A terrible storm came over her , as if she were drowning .  She was possessed by a devastating hopelessness .  And she approached mechanically to the altar .  Never had she known such a pang of utter and final hopelessness .  It was beyond death , so utterly null , desert .  The bridegroom and the groom’s man had not yet come .  There was a growing consternation outside .  Ursula felt almost responsible .  She could not bear it that the bride should arrive , and no groom .  The wedding must not be a fiasco , it must not .  But here was the bride’s carriage , adorned with ribbons and cockades .  Gaily the grey horses curvetted to their destination at the church-gate , a laughter in the whole movement .  Here was the quick of all laughter and pleasure .  The door of the carriage was thrown open , to let out the very blossom of the day .  The people on the roadway murmured faintly with the discontented murmuring of a crowd .  The father stepped out first into the air of the morning , like a shadow .  He was a tall , thin , careworn man , with a thin black beard that was touched with grey .  He waited at the door of the carriage patiently , self-obliterated .  In the opening of the doorway was a shower of fine foliage and flowers , a whiteness of satin and lace , and a sound of a gay voice saying :  “ How do I get out ?  ”  A ripple of satisfaction ran through the expectant people .  They pressed near to receive her , looking with zest at the stooping blond head with its flower buds , and at the delicate , white , tentative foot that was reaching down to the step of the carriage .  There was a sudden foaming rush , and the bride like a sudden surf-rush , floating all white beside her father in the morning shadow of trees , her veil flowing with laughter .  “ That’s done it !  ” she said .  She put her hand on the arm of her care-worn , sallow father , and frothing her light draperies , proceeded over the eternal red carpet .  Her father , mute and yellowish , his black beard making him look more careworn , mounted the steps stiffly , as if his spirit were absent ; but the laughing mist of the bride went along with him undiminished .  And no bridegroom had arrived !  It was intolerable for her .  Ursula , her heart strained with anxiety , was watching the hill beyond ; the white , descending road , that should give sight of him .  There was a carriage .  It was running .  It had just come into sight .  Yes , it was he .  Ursula turned towards the bride and the people , and , from her place of vantage , gave an inarticulate cry .  She wanted to warn them that he was coming .  But her cry was inarticulate and inaudible , and she flushed deeply , between her desire and her wincing confusion .  The carriage rattled down the hill , and drew near .  There was a shout from the people .  The bride , who had just reached the top of the steps , turned round gaily to see what was the commotion .  She saw a confusion among the people , a cab pulling up , and her lover dropping out of the carriage , and dodging among the horses and into the crowd .  “ Tibs !  Tibs !  ” she cried in her sudden , mocking excitement , standing high on the path in the sunlight and waving her bouquet .  He , dodging with his hat in his hand , had not heard .  “ Tibs !  ” she cried again , looking down to him .  He glanced up , unaware , and saw the bride and her father standing on the path above him .  A queer , startled look went over his face .  He hesitated for a moment .  Then he gathered himself together for a leap , to overtake her .  “ Ah-h-h !  ” came her strange , intaken cry , as , on the reflex , she started , turned and fled , scudding with an unthinkable swift beating of her white feet and fraying of her white garments , towards the church .  Like a hound the young man was after her , leaping the steps and swinging past her father , his supple haunches working like those of a hound that bears down on the quarry .  “ Ay , after her !  ” cried the vulgar women below , carried suddenly into the sport .  She , her flowers shaken from her like froth , was steadying herself to turn the angle of the church .  She glanced behind , and with a wild cry of laughter and challenge , veered , poised , and was gone beyond the grey stone buttress .  In another instant the bridegroom , bent forward as he ran , had caught the angle of the silent stone with his hand , and had swung himself out of sight , his supple , strong loins vanishing in pursuit .  Instantly cries and exclamations of excitement burst from the crowd at the gate .  And then Ursula noticed again the dark , rather stooping figure of Mr Crich , waiting suspended on the path , watching with expressionless face the flight to the church .  It was over , and he turned round to look behind him , at the figure of Rupert Birkin , who at once came forward and joined him .  “ We’ll bring up the rear , ” said Birkin , a faint smile on his face .  “ Ay !  ” replied the father laconically .  And the two men turned together up the path .  Birkin was as thin as Mr Crich , pale and ill-looking .  His figure was narrow but nicely made .  He went with a slight trail of one foot , which came only from self-consciousness .  Although he was dressed correctly for his part , yet there was an innate incongruity which caused a slight ridiculousness in his appearance .  His nature was clever and separate , he did not fit at all in the conventional occasion .  Yet he subordinated himself to the common idea , travestied himself .  He affected to be quite ordinary , perfectly and marvellously commonplace .  And he did it so well , taking the tone of his surroundings , adjusting himself quickly to his interlocutor and his circumstance , that he achieved a verisimilitude of ordinary commonplaceness that usually propitiated his onlookers for the moment , disarmed them from attacking his singleness .  Now he spoke quite easily and pleasantly to Mr Crich , as they walked along the path ; he played with situations like a man on a tight-rope : but always on a tight-rope , pretending nothing but ease .  “ I’m sorry we are so late , ” he was saying .  “ We couldn’t find a button-hook , so it took us a long time to button our boots .  But you were to the moment .  ”  “ We are usually to time , ” said Mr Crich .  “ And I’m always late , ” said Birkin .  “ But today I was really punctual , only accidentally not so .  I’m sorry .  ”  The two men were gone , there was nothing more to see , for the time .  Ursula was left thinking about Birkin .  He piqued her , attracted her , and annoyed her .  She wanted to know him more .  She had spoken with him once or twice , but only in his official capacity as inspector .  She thought he seemed to acknowledge some kinship between her and him , a natural , tacit understanding , a using of the same language .  But there had been no time for the understanding to develop .  And something kept her from him , as well as attracted her to him .  There was a certain hostility , a hidden ultimate reserve in him , cold and inaccessible .  Yet she wanted to know him .  “ What do you think of Rupert Birkin ?  ” she asked , a little reluctantly , of Gudrun .  She did not want to discuss him .  “ What do I think of Rupert Birkin ?  ” repeated Gudrun .  “ I think he’s attractive — decidedly attractive .  What I can’t stand about him is his way with other people — his way of treating any little fool as if she were his greatest consideration .  One feels so awfully sold , oneself .  ”  “ Why does he do it ?  ” said Ursula .  “ Because he has no real critical faculty — of people , at all events , ” said Gudrun .  “ I tell you , he treats any little fool as he treats me or you — and it’s such an insult .  ”  “ Oh , it is , ” said Ursula .  “ One must discriminate .  ”  “ One must discriminate , ” repeated Gudrun .  “ But he’s a wonderful chap , in other respects — a marvellous personality .  But you can’t trust him .  ”  “ Yes , ” said Ursula vaguely .  She was always forced to assent to Gudrun’s pronouncements , even when she was not in accord altogether .  The sisters sat silent , waiting for the wedding party to come out .  Gudrun was impatient of talk .  She wanted to think about Gerald Crich .  She wanted to see if the strong feeling she had got from him was real .  She wanted to have herself ready .  Inside the church , the wedding was going on .  Hermione Roddice was thinking only of Birkin .  He stood near her .  She seemed to gravitate physically towards him .  She wanted to stand touching him .  She could hardly be sure he was near her , if she did not touch him .  Yet she stood subjected through the wedding service .  She had suffered so bitterly when he did not come , that still she was dazed .  Still she was gnawed as by a neuralgia , tormented by his potential absence from her .  She had awaited him in a faint delirium of nervous torture .  As she stood bearing herself pensively , the rapt look on her face , that seemed spiritual , like the angels , but which came from torture , gave her a certain poignancy that tore his heart with pity .  He saw her bowed head , her rapt face , the face of an almost demoniacal ecstatic .  Feeling him looking , she lifted her face and sought his eyes , her own beautiful grey eyes flaring him a great signal .  But he avoided her look , she sank her head in torment and shame , the gnawing at her heart going on .  And he too was tortured with shame , and ultimate dislike , and with acute pity for her , because he did not want to meet her eyes , he did not want to receive her flare of recognition .  The bride and bridegroom were married , the party went into the vestry .  Hermione crowded involuntarily up against Birkin , to touch him .  And he endured it .  Outside , Gudrun and Ursula listened for their father’s playing on the organ .  He would enjoy playing a wedding march .  Now the married pair were coming !  The bells were ringing , making the air shake .  Ursula wondered if the trees and the flowers could feel the vibration , and what they thought of it , this strange motion in the air .  The bride was quite demure on the arm of the bridegroom , who stared up into the sky before him , shutting and opening his eyes unconsciously , as if he were neither here nor there .  He looked rather comical , blinking and trying to be in the scene , when emotionally he was violated by his exposure to a crowd .  He looked a typical naval officer , manly , and up to his duty .  Birkin came with Hermione .  She had a rapt , triumphant look , like the fallen angels restored , yet still subtly demoniacal , now she held Birkin by the arm .  And he was expressionless , neutralised , possessed by her as if it were his fate , without question .  Gerald Crich came , fair , good-looking , healthy , with a great reserve of energy .  He was erect and complete , there was a strange stealth glistening through his amiable , almost happy appearance .  Gudrun rose sharply and went away .  She could not bear it .  She wanted to be alone , to know this strange , sharp inoculation that had changed the whole temper of her blood .  CHAPTER II .  SHORTLANDS  The Brangwens went home to Beldover , the wedding-party gathered at Shortlands , the Criches’ home .  It was a long , low old house , a sort of manor farm , that spread along the top of a slope just beyond the narrow little lake of Willey Water .  Shortlands looked across a sloping meadow that might be a park , because of the large , solitary trees that stood here and there , across the water of the narrow lake , at the wooded hill that successfully hid the colliery valley beyond , but did not quite hide the rising smoke .  Nevertheless , the scene was rural and picturesque , very peaceful , and the house had a charm of its own .  It was crowded now with the family and the wedding guests .  The father , who was not well , withdrew to rest .  Gerald was host .  He stood in the homely entrance hall , friendly and easy , attending to the men .  He seemed to take pleasure in his social functions , he smiled , and was abundant in hospitality .  The women wandered about in a little confusion , chased hither and thither by the three married daughters of the house .  All the while there could be heard the characteristic , imperious voice of one Crich woman or another calling “ Helen , come here a minute , ” “ Marjory , I want you — here .  ” “ Oh , I say , Mrs Witham — .  ” There was a great rustling of skirts , swift glimpses of smartly-dressed women , a child danced through the hall and back again , a maidservant came and went hurriedly .  Meanwhile the men stood in calm little groups , chatting , smoking , pretending to pay no heed to the rustling animation of the women’s world .  But they could not really talk , because of the glassy ravel of women’s excited , cold laughter and running voices .  They waited , uneasy , suspended , rather bored .  But Gerald remained as if genial and happy , unaware that he was waiting or unoccupied , knowing himself the very pivot of the occasion .  Suddenly Mrs Crich came noiselessly into the room , peering about with her strong , clear face .  She was still wearing her hat , and her sac coat of blue silk .  “ What is it , mother ?  ” said Gerald .  “ Nothing , nothing !  ” she answered vaguely .  And she went straight towards Birkin , who was talking to a Crich brother-in-law .  “ How do you do , Mr Birkin , ” she said , in her low voice , that seemed to take no count of her guests .  She held out her hand to him .  “ Oh Mrs Crich , ” replied Birkin , in his readily-changing voice , “ I couldn’t come to you before .  ”  “ I don’t know half the people here , ” she said , in her low voice .  Her son-in-law moved uneasily away .  “ And you don’t like strangers ?  ” laughed Birkin .  “ I myself can never see why one should take account of people , just because they happen to be in the room with one : why should I know they are there ?  ”  “ Why indeed , why indeed !  ” said Mrs Crich , in her low , tense voice .  “ Except that they are there .  I don’t know people whom I find in the house .  The children introduce them to me — ‘Mother , this is Mr So-and-so.’ I am no further .  What has Mr So-and-so to do with his own name ?  — and what have I to do with either him or his name ?  ”  She looked up at Birkin .  She startled him .  He was flattered too that she came to talk to him , for she took hardly any notice of anybody .  He looked down at her tense clear face , with its heavy features , but he was afraid to look into her heavy-seeing blue eyes .  He noticed instead how her hair looped in slack , slovenly strands over her rather beautiful ears , which were not quite clean .  Neither was her neck perfectly clean .  Even in that he seemed to belong to her , rather than to the rest of the company ; though , he thought to himself , he was always well washed , at any rate at the neck and ears .  He smiled faintly , thinking these things .  Yet he was tense , feeling that he and the elderly , estranged woman were conferring together like traitors , like enemies within the camp of the other people .  He resembled a deer , that throws one ear back upon the trail behind , and one ear forward , to know what is ahead .  “ People don’t really matter , ” he said , rather unwilling to continue .  The mother looked up at him with sudden , dark interrogation , as if doubting his sincerity .  “ How do you mean , matter ? ” she asked sharply .  “ Not many people are anything at all , ” he answered , forced to go deeper than he wanted to .  “ They jingle and giggle .  It would be much better if they were just wiped out .  Essentially , they don’t exist , they aren’t there .  ”  She watched him steadily while he spoke .  “ But we didn’t imagine them , ” she said sharply .  “ There’s nothing to imagine , that’s why they don’t exist .  ”  “ Well , ” she said , “ I would hardly go as far as that .  There they are , whether they exist or no. It doesn’t rest with me to decide on their existence .  I only know that I can’t be expected to take count of them all .  You can’t expect me to know them , just because they happen to be there .  As far as I go they might as well not be there .  ”  “ Exactly , ” he replied .  “ Mightn’t they ?  ” she asked again .  “ Just as well , ” he repeated .  And there was a little pause .  “ Except that they are there , and that’s a nuisance , ” she said .  “ There are my sons-in-law , ” she went on , in a sort of monologue .  “ Now Laura’s got married , there’s another .  And I really don’t know John from James yet .  They come up to me and call me mother .  I know what they will say — ‘how are you , mother ?  ’ I ought to say , ‘I am not your mother , in any sense.’ But what is the use ?  There they are .  I have had children of my own .  I suppose I know them from another woman’s children .  ”  “ One would suppose so , ” he said .  She looked at him , somewhat surprised , forgetting perhaps that she was talking to him .  And she lost her thread .  She looked round the room , vaguely .  Birkin could not guess what she was looking for , nor what she was thinking .  Evidently she noticed her sons .  “ Are my children all there ?  ” she asked him abruptly .  He laughed , startled , afraid perhaps .  “ I scarcely know them , except Gerald , ” he replied .  “ Gerald !  ” she exclaimed .  “ He’s the most wanting of them all .  You’d never think it , to look at him now , would you ?  ”  “ No , ” said Birkin .  The mother looked across at her eldest son , stared at him heavily for some time .  “ Ay , ” she said , in an incomprehensible monosyllable , that sounded profoundly cynical .  Birkin felt afraid , as if he dared not realise .  And Mrs Crich moved away , forgetting him .  But she returned on her traces .  “ I should like him to have a friend , ” she said .  “ He has never had a friend .  ”  Birkin looked down into her eyes , which were blue , and watching heavily .  He could not understand them .  “ Am I my brother’s keeper ?  ” he said to himself , almost flippantly .  Then he remembered , with a slight shock , that that was Cain’s cry .  And Gerald was Cain , if anybody .  Not that he was Cain , either , although he had slain his brother .  There was such a thing as pure accident , and the consequences did not attach to one , even though one had killed one’s brother in such wise .  Gerald as a boy had accidentally killed his brother .  What then ?  Why seek to draw a brand and a curse across the life that had caused the accident ?  A man can live by accident , and die by accident .  Or can he not ?  Is every man’s life subject to pure accident , is it only the race , the genus , the species , that has a universal reference ?  Or is this not true , is there no such thing as pure accident ?  Has everything that happens a universal significance ?  Has it ?  Birkin , pondering as he stood there , had forgotten Mrs Crich , as she had forgotten him .  He did not believe that there was any such thing as accident .  It all hung together , in the deepest sense .  Just as he had decided this , one of the Crich daughters came up , saying :  “ Won’t you come and take your hat off , mother dear ?  We shall be sitting down to eat in a minute , and it’s a formal occasion , darling , isn’t it ?  ” She drew her arm through her mother’s , and they went away .  Birkin immediately went to talk to the nearest man .  The gong sounded for the luncheon .  The men looked up , but no move was made to the dining-room .  The women of the house seemed not to feel that the sound had meaning for them .  Five minutes passed by .  The elderly manservant , Crowther , appeared in the doorway exasperatedly .  He looked with appeal at Gerald .  The latter took up a large , curved conch shell , that lay on a shelf , and without reference to anybody , blew a shattering blast .  It was a strange rousing noise , that made the heart beat .  The summons was almost magical .  Everybody came running , as if at a signal .  And then the crowd in one impulse moved to the dining-room .  Gerald waited a moment , for his sister to play hostess .  He knew his mother would pay no attention to her duties .  But his sister merely crowded to her seat .  Therefore the young man , slightly too dictatorial , directed the guests to their places .  There was a moment’s lull , as everybody looked at the hors d’oeuvres that were being handed round .  And out of this lull , a girl of thirteen or fourteen , with her long hair down her back , said in a calm , self-possessed voice :  “ Gerald , you forget father , when you make that unearthly noise .  ”  “ Do I ?  ” he answered .  And then , to the company , “ Father is lying down , he is not quite well .  ”  “ How is he , really ?  ” called one of the married daughters , peeping round the immense wedding cake that towered up in the middle of the table shedding its artificial flowers .  “ He has no pain , but he feels tired , ” replied Winifred , the girl with the hair down her back .  The wine was filled , and everybody was talking boisterously .  At the far end of the table sat the mother , with her loosely-looped hair .  She had Birkin for a neighbour .  Sometimes she glanced fiercely down the rows of faces , bending forwards and staring unceremoniously .  And she would say in a low voice to Birkin :  “ Who is that young man ?  ”  “ I don’t know , ” Birkin answered discreetly .  “ Have I seen him before ?  ” she asked .  “ I don’t think so .  I haven’t , ” he replied .  And she was satisfied .  Her eyes closed wearily , a peace came over her face , she looked like a queen in repose .  Then she started , a little social smile came on her face , for a moment she looked the pleasant hostess .  For a moment she bent graciously , as if everyone were welcome and delightful .  And then immediately the shadow came back , a sullen , eagle look was on her face , she glanced from under her brows like a sinister creature at bay , hating them all .  “ Mother , ” called Diana , a handsome girl a little older than Winifred , “ I may have wine , mayn’t I ?  ”  “ Yes , you may have wine , ” replied the mother automatically , for she was perfectly indifferent to the question .  And Diana beckoned to the footman to fill her glass .  “ Gerald shouldn’t forbid me , ” she said calmly , to the company at large .  “ All right , Di , ” said her brother amiably .  And she glanced challenge at him as she drank from her glass .  There was a strange freedom , that almost amounted to anarchy , in the house .  It was rather a resistance to authority , than liberty .  Gerald had some command , by mere force of personality , not because of any granted position .  There was a quality in his voice , amiable but dominant , that cowed the others , who were all younger than he .  Hermione was having a discussion with the bridegroom about nationality .  “ No , ” she said , “ I think that the appeal to patriotism is a mistake .  It is like one house of business rivalling another house of business .  ”  “ Well you can hardly say that , can you ?  ” exclaimed Gerald , who had a real passion for discussion .  “ You couldn’t call a race a business concern , could you ?  — and nationality roughly corresponds to race , I think .  I think it is meant to .  ”  There was a moment’s pause .  Gerald and Hermione were always strangely but politely and evenly inimical .  “ Do you think race corresponds with nationality ?  ” she asked musingly , with expressionless indecision .  Birkin knew she was waiting for him to participate .  And dutifully he spoke up .  “ I think Gerald is right — race is the essential element in nationality , in Europe at least , ” he said .  Again Hermione paused , as if to allow this statement to cool .  Then she said with strange assumption of authority :  “ Yes , but even so , is the patriotic appeal an appeal to the racial instinct ?  Is it not rather an appeal to the proprietory instinct , the commercial instinct ?  And isn’t this what we mean by nationality ?  ”  “ Probably , ” said Birkin , who felt that such a discussion was out of place and out of time .  But Gerald was now on the scent of argument .  “ A race may have its commercial aspect , ” he said .  “ In fact it must .  It is like a family .  You must make provision .  And to make provision you have got to strive against other families , other nations .  I don’t see why you shouldn’t .  ”  Again Hermione made a pause , domineering and cold , before she replied : “ Yes , I think it is always wrong to provoke a spirit of rivalry .  It makes bad blood .  And bad blood accumulates .  ”  “ But you can’t do away with the spirit of emulation altogether ?  ” said Gerald .  “ It is one of the necessary incentives to production and improvement .  ”  “ Yes , ” came Hermione’s sauntering response .  “ I think you can do away with it .  ”  “ I must say , ” said Birkin , “ I detest the spirit of emulation .  ” Hermione was biting a piece of bread , pulling it from between her teeth with her fingers , in a slow , slightly derisive movement .  She turned to Birkin .  “ You do hate it , yes , ” she said , intimate and gratified .  “ Detest it , ” he repeated .  “ Yes , ” she murmured , assured and satisfied .  “ But , ” Gerald insisted , “ you don’t allow one man to take away his neighbour’s living , so why should you allow one nation to take away the living from another nation ?  ”  There was a long slow murmur from Hermione before she broke into speech , saying with a laconic indifference :  “ It is not always a question of possessions , is it ?  It is not all a question of goods ?  ”  Gerald was nettled by this implication of vulgar materialism .  “ Yes , more or less , ” he retorted .  “ If I go and take a man’s hat from off his head , that hat becomes a symbol of that man’s liberty .  When he fights me for his hat , he is fighting me for his liberty .  ”  Hermione was nonplussed .  “ Yes , ” she said , irritated .  “ But that way of arguing by imaginary instances is not supposed to be genuine , is it ?  A man does not come and take my hat from off my head , does he ?  ”  “ Only because the law prevents him , ” said Gerald .  “ Not only , ” said Birkin .  “ Ninety-nine men out of a hundred don’t want my hat .  ”  “ That’s a matter of opinion , ” said Gerald .  “ Or the hat , ” laughed the bridegroom .  “ And if he does want my hat , such as it is , ” said Birkin , “ why , surely it is open to me to decide , which is a greater loss to me , my hat , or my liberty as a free and indifferent man .  If I am compelled to offer fight , I lose the latter .  It is a question which is worth more to me , my pleasant liberty of conduct , or my hat .  ”  “ Yes , ” said Hermione , watching Birkin strangely .  “ Yes .  ”  “ But would you let somebody come and snatch your hat off your head ?  ” the bride asked of Hermione .  The face of the tall straight woman turned slowly and as if drugged to this new speaker .  “ No , ” she replied , in a low inhuman tone , that seemed to contain a chuckle .  “ No , I shouldn’t let anybody take my hat off my head .  ”  “ How would you prevent it ?  ” asked Gerald .  “ I don’t know , ” replied Hermione slowly .  “ Probably I should kill him .  ”  There was a strange chuckle in her tone , a dangerous and convincing humour in her bearing .  “ Of course , ” said Gerald , “ I can see Rupert’s point .  It is a question to him whether his hat or his peace of mind is more important .  ”  “ Peace of body , ” said Birkin .  “ Well , as you like there , ” replied Gerald .  “ But how are you going to decide this for a nation ?  ”  “ Heaven preserve me , ” laughed Birkin .  “ Yes , but suppose you have to ?  ” Gerald persisted .  “ Then it is the same .  If the national crown-piece is an old hat , then the thieving gent may have it .  ”  “ But can the national or racial hat be an old hat ?  ” insisted Gerald .  “ Pretty well bound to be , I believe , ” said Birkin .  “ I’m not so sure , ” said Gerald .  “ I don’t agree , Rupert , ” said Hermione .  “ All right , ” said Birkin .  “ I’m all for the old national hat , ” laughed Gerald .  “ And a fool you look in it , ” cried Diana , his pert sister who was just in her teens .  “ Oh , we’re quite out of our depths with these old hats , ” cried Laura Crich .  “ Dry up now , Gerald .  We’re going to drink toasts .  Let us drink toasts .  Toasts — glasses , glasses — now then , toasts !  Speech !  Speech !  ”  Birkin , thinking about race or national death , watched his glass being filled with champagne .  The bubbles broke at the rim , the man withdrew , and feeling a sudden thirst at the sight of the fresh wine , Birkin drank up his glass .  A queer little tension in the room roused him .  He felt a sharp constraint .  “ Did I do it by accident , or on purpose ?  ” he asked himself .  And he decided that , according to the vulgar phrase , he had done it “ accidentally on purpose .  ” He looked round at the hired footman .  And the hired footman came , with a silent step of cold servant-like disapprobation .  Birkin decided that he detested toasts , and footmen , and assemblies , and mankind altogether , in most of its aspects .  Then he rose to make a speech .  But he was somehow disgusted .  At length it was over , the meal .  Several men strolled out into the garden .  There was a lawn , and flower-beds , and at the boundary an iron fence shutting off the little field or park .  The view was pleasant ; a highroad curving round the edge of a low lake , under the trees .  In the spring air , the water gleamed and the opposite woods were purplish with new life .  Charming Jersey cattle came to the fence , breathing hoarsely from their velvet muzzles at the human beings , expecting perhaps a crust .  Birkin leaned on the fence .  A cow was breathing wet hotness on his hand .  “ Pretty cattle , very pretty , ” said Marshall , one of the brothers-in-law .  “ They give the best milk you can have .  ”  “ Yes , ” said Birkin .  “ Eh , my little beauty , eh , my beauty !  ” said Marshall , in a queer high falsetto voice , that caused the other man to have convulsions of laughter in his stomach .  “ Who won the race , Lupton ?  ” he called to the bridegroom , to hide the fact that he was laughing .  The bridegroom took his cigar from his mouth .  “ The race ?  ” he exclaimed .  Then a rather thin smile came over his face .  He did not want to say anything about the flight to the church door .  “ We got there together .  At least she touched first , but I had my hand on her shoulder .  ”  “ What’s this ?  ” asked Gerald .  Birkin told him about the race of the bride and the bridegroom .  “ H’m !  ” said Gerald , in disapproval .  “ What made you late then ?  ”  “ Lupton would talk about the immortality of the soul , ” said Birkin , “ and then he hadn’t got a button-hook .  ”  “ Oh God !  ” cried Marshall .  “ The immortality of the soul on your wedding day !  Hadn’t you got anything better to occupy your mind ?  ”  “ What’s wrong with it ?  ” asked the bridegroom , a clean-shaven naval man , flushing sensitively .  “ Sounds as if you were going to be executed instead of married .  The immortality of the soul ! ” repeated the brother-in-law , with most killing emphasis .  But he fell quite flat .  “ And what did you decide ?  ” asked Gerald , at once pricking up his ears at the thought of a metaphysical discussion .  “ You don’t want a soul today , my boy , ” said Marshall .  “ It’d be in your road .  ”  “ Christ !  Marshall , go and talk to somebody else , ” cried Gerald , with sudden impatience .  “ By God , I’m willing , ” said Marshall , in a temper .  “ Too much bloody soul and talk altogether — ”  He withdrew in a dudgeon , Gerald staring after him with angry eyes , that grew gradually calm and amiable as the stoutly-built form of the other man passed into the distance .  “ There’s one thing , Lupton , ” said Gerald , turning suddenly to the bridegroom .  “ Laura won’t have brought such a fool into the family as Lottie did .  ”  “ Comfort yourself with that , ” laughed Birkin .  “ I take no notice of them , ” laughed the bridegroom .  “ What about this race then — who began it ?  ” Gerald asked .  “ We were late .  Laura was at the top of the churchyard steps when our cab came up .  She saw Lupton bolting towards her .  And she fled .  But why do you look so cross ?  Does it hurt your sense of the family dignity ?  ”  “ It does , rather , ” said Gerald .  “ If you’re doing a thing , do it properly , and if you’re not going to do it properly , leave it alone .  ”  “ Very nice aphorism , ” said Birkin .  “ Don’t you agree ?  ” asked Gerald .  “ Quite , ” said Birkin .  “ Only it bores me rather , when you become aphoristic .  ”  “ Damn you , Rupert , you want all the aphorisms your own way , ” said Gerald .  “ No. I want them out of the way , and you’re always shoving them in it .  ”  Gerald smiled grimly at this humorism .  Then he made a little gesture of dismissal , with his eyebrows .  “ You don’t believe in having any standard of behaviour at all , do you ?  ” he challenged Birkin , censoriously .  “ Standard — no. I hate standards .  But they’re necessary for the common ruck .  Anybody who is anything can just be himself and do as he likes .  ”  “ But what do you mean by being himself ?  ” said Gerald .  “ Is that an aphorism or a cliché ?  ”  “ I mean just doing what you want to do .  I think it was perfect good form in Laura to bolt from Lupton to the church door .  It was almost a masterpiece in good form .  It’s the hardest thing in the world to act spontaneously on one’s impulses — and it’s the only really gentlemanly thing to do — provided you’re fit to do it .  ”  “ You don’t expect me to take you seriously , do you ?  ” asked Gerald .  “ Yes , Gerald , you’re one of the very few people I do expect that of .  ”  “ Then I’m afraid I can’t come up to your expectations here , at any rate .  You think people should just do as they like .  ”  “ I think they always do .  But I should like them to like the purely individual thing in themselves , which makes them act in singleness .  And they only like to do the collective thing .  ”  “ And I , ” said Gerald grimly , “ shouldn’t like to be in a world of people who acted individually and spontaneously , as you call it .  We should have everybody cutting everybody else’s throat in five minutes .  ”  “ That means you would like to be cutting everybody’s throat , ” said Birkin .  “ How does that follow ?  ” asked Gerald crossly .  “ No man , ” said Birkin , “ cuts another man’s throat unless he wants to cut it , and unless the other man wants it cutting .  This is a complete truth .  It takes two people to make a murder : a murderer and a murderee .  And a murderee is a man who is murderable .  And a man who is murderable is a man who in a profound if hidden lust desires to be murdered .  ”  “ Sometimes you talk pure nonsense , ” said Gerald to Birkin .  “ As a matter of fact , none of us wants our throat cut , and most other people would like to cut it for us — some time or other — ”  “ It’s a nasty view of things , Gerald , ” said Birkin , “ and no wonder you are afraid of yourself and your own unhappiness .  ”  “ How am I afraid of myself ?  ” said Gerald ; “ and I don’t think I am unhappy .  ”  “ You seem to have a lurking desire to have your gizzard slit , and imagine every man has his knife up his sleeve for you , ” Birkin said .  “ How do you make that out ?  ” said Gerald .  “ From you , ” said Birkin .  There was a pause of strange enmity between the two men , that was very near to love .  It was always the same between them ; always their talk brought them into a deadly nearness of contact , a strange , perilous intimacy which was either hate or love , or both .  They parted with apparent unconcern , as if their going apart were a trivial occurrence .  And they really kept it to the level of trivial occurrence .  Yet the heart of each burned from the other .  They burned with each other , inwardly .  This they would never admit .  They intended to keep their relationship a casual free-and-easy friendship , they were not going to be so unmanly and unnatural as to allow any heart-burning between them .  They had not the faintest belief in deep relationship between men and men , and their disbelief prevented any development of their powerful but suppressed friendliness .  CHAPTER III .  CLASS-ROOM  A school-day was drawing to a close .  In the class-room the last lesson was in progress , peaceful and still .  It was elementary botany .  The desks were littered with catkins , hazel and willow , which the children had been sketching .  But the sky had come overdark , as the end of the afternoon approached : there was scarcely light to draw any more .  Ursula stood in front of the class , leading the children by questions to understand the structure and the meaning of the catkins .