CHAPTER VI.
CREME DE MENTHE
They met again in the cafe several hours later. Gerald went through thepush doors into the large, lofty room where the faces and heads of thedrinkers showed dimly through the haze of smoke, reflected more dimly,and repeated ad infinitum in the great mirrors on the walls, so thatone seemed to enter a vague, dim world of shadowy drinkers hummingwithin an atmosphere of blue tobacco smoke. There was, however, the redplush of the seats to give substance within the bubble of pleasure.
Gerald moved in his slow, observant, glistening-attentive motion downbetween the tables and the people whose shadowy faces looked up as hepassed. He seemed to be entering in some strange element, passing intoan illuminated new region, among a host of licentious souls. He waspleased, and entertained. He looked over all the dim, evanescent,strangely illuminated faces that bent across the tables. Then he sawBirkin rise and signal to him.
At Birkin's table was a girl with dark, soft, fluffy hair cut short inthe artist fashion, hanging level and full almost like the Egyptianprincess's. She was small and delicately made, with warm colouring andlarge, dark hostile eyes. There was a delicacy, almost a beauty in allher form, and at the same time a certain attractive grossness ofspirit, that made a little spark leap instantly alight in Gerald'seyes.
Birkin, who looked muted, unreal, his presence left out, introduced heras Miss Darrington. She gave her hand with a sudden, unwillingmovement, looking all the while at Gerald with a dark, exposed stare. Aglow came over him as he sat down.
The waiter appeared. Gerald glanced at the glasses of the other two.Birkin was drinking something green, Miss Darrington had a smallliqueur glass that was empty save for a tiny drop.
'Won't you have some more--?'
'Brandy,' she said, sipping her last drop and putting down the glass.The waiter disappeared.
'No,' she said to Birkin. 'He doesn't know I'm back. He'll be terrifiedwhen he sees me here.'
She spoke her r's like w's, lisping with a slightly babyishpronunciation which was at once affected and true to her character. Hervoice was dull and toneless.
'Where is he then?' asked Birkin.
'He's doing a private show at Lady Snellgrove's,' said the girl.'Warens is there too.'
There was a pause.
'Well, then,' said Birkin, in a dispassionate protective manner, 'whatdo you intend to do?'
The girl paused sullenly. She hated the question.
'I don't intend to do anything,' she replied. 'I shall look for somesittings tomorrow.'
'Who shall you go to?' asked Birkin.
'I shall go to Bentley's first. But I believe he's angwy with me forrunning away.'
'That is from the Madonna?'
'Yes. And then if he doesn't want me, I know I can get work withCarmarthen.'
'Carmarthen?'
'Lord Carmarthen--he does photographs.'
'Chiffon and shoulders--'
'Yes. But he's awfully decent.' There was a pause.
'And what are you going to do about Julius?' he asked.
'Nothing,' she said. 'I shall just ignore him.'
'You've done with him altogether?' But she turned aside her facesullenly, and did not answer the question.
Another young man came hurrying up to the table.
'Hallo Birkin! Hallo PUSSUM, when did you come back?' he said eagerly.
'Today.'
'Does Halliday know?'
'I don't know. I don't care either.'
'Ha-ha! The wind still sits in that quarter, does it? Do you mind if Icome over to this table?'
'I'm talking to Wupert, do you mind?' she replied, coolly and yetappealingly, like a child.
'Open confession--good for the soul, eh?' said the young man. 'Well, solong.'
And giving a sharp look at Birkin and at Gerald, the young man movedoff, with a swing of his coat skirts.
All this time Gerald had been completely ignored. And yet he felt thatthe girl was physically aware of his proximity. He waited, listened,and tried to piece together the conversation.
'Are you staying at the flat?' the girl asked, of Birkin.
'For three days,' replied Birkin. 'And you?'
'I don't know yet. I can always go to Bertha's.' There was a silence.
Suddenly the girl turned to Gerald, and said, in a rather formal,polite voice, with the distant manner of a woman who accepts herposition as a social inferior, yet assumes intimate CAMARADERIE withthe male she addresses:
'Do you know London well?'
'I can hardly say,' he laughed. 'I've been up a good many times, but Iwas never in this place before.'
'You're not an artist, then?' she said, in a tone that placed him anoutsider.
'No,' he replied.
'He's a soldier, and an explorer, and a Napoleon of industry,' saidBirkin, giving Gerald his credentials for Bohemia.
'Are you a soldier?' asked the girl, with a cold yet lively curiosity.
'No, I resigned my commission,' said Gerald, 'some years ago.'
'He was in the last war,' said Birkin.
'Were you really?' said the girl.
'And then he explored the Amazon,' said Birkin, 'and now he is rulingover coal-mines.'
The girl looked at Gerald with steady, calm curiosity. He laughed,hearing himself described. He felt proud too, full of male strength.His blue, keen eyes were lit up with laughter, his ruddy face, with itssharp fair hair, was full of satisfaction, and glowing with life. Hepiqued her.
'How long are you staying?' she asked him.
'A day or two,' he replied. 'But there is no particular hurry.'
Still she stared into his face with that slow, full gaze which was socurious and so exciting to him. He was acutely and delightfullyconscious of himself, of his own attractiveness. He felt full ofstrength, able to give off a sort of electric power. And he was awareof her dark, hot-looking eyes upon him. She had beautiful eyes, dark,fully-opened, hot, naked in their looking at him. And on them thereseemed to float a film of disintegration, a sort of misery andsullenness, like oil on water. She wore no hat in the heated cafe, herloose, simple jumper was strung on a string round her neck. But it wasmade of rich peach-coloured crepe-de-chine, that hung heavily andsoftly from her young throat and her slender wrists. Her appearance wassimple and complete, really beautiful, because of her regularity andform, her soft dark hair falling full and level on either side of herhead, her straight, small, softened features, Egyptian in the slightfulness of their curves, her slender neck and the simple, rich-colouredsmock hanging on her slender shoulders. She was very still, almostnull, in her manner, apart and watchful.
She appealed to Gerald strongly. He felt an awful, enjoyable power overher, an instinctive cherishing very near to cruelty. For she was avictim. He felt that she was in his power, and he was generous. Theelectricity was turgid and voluptuously rich, in his limbs. He would beable to destroy her utterly in the strength of his discharge. But shewas waiting in her separation, given.
They talked banalities for some time. Suddenly Birkin said:
'There's Julius!' and he half rose to his feet, motioning to thenewcomer. The girl, with a curious, almost evil motion, looked roundover her shoulder without moving her body. Gerald watched her dark,soft hair swing over her ears. He felt her watching intensely the manwho was approaching, so he looked too. He saw a pale, full-built youngman with rather long, solid fair hair hanging from under his black hat,moving cumbrously down the room, his face lit up with a smile at oncenaive and warm, and vapid. He approached towards Birkin, with a hasteof welcome.
It was not till he was quite close that he perceived the girl. Herecoiled, went pale, and said, in a high squealing voice:
'Pussum, what are YOU doing here?'
The cafe looked up like animals when they hear a cry. Halliday hungmotionless, an almost imbecile smile flickering palely on his face. Thegirl only stared at him with a black look in which flared anunfathomable hell of knowledge, and a certain impotence. She waslimited by h
im.
'Why have you come back?' repeated Halliday, in the same high,hysterical voice. 'I told you not to come back.'
The girl did not answer, only stared in the same viscous, heavyfashion, straight at him, as he stood recoiled, as if for safety,against the next table.
'You know you wanted her to come back--come and sit down,' said Birkinto him.
'No I didn't want her to come back, and I told her not to come back.What have you come for, Pussum?'
'For nothing from YOU,' she said in a heavy voice of resentment.
'Then why have you come back at ALL?' cried Halliday, his voice risingto a kind of squeal.
'She comes as she likes,' said Birkin. 'Are you going to sit down, orare you not?'
'No, I won't sit down with Pussum,' cried Halliday.
'I won't hurt you, you needn't be afraid,' she said to him, verycurtly, and yet with a sort of protectiveness towards him, in hervoice.
Halliday came and sat at the table, putting his hand on his heart, andcrying:
'Oh, it's given me such a turn! Pussum, I wish you wouldn't do thesethings. Why did you come back?'
'Not for anything from you,' she repeated.
'You've said that before,' he cried in a high voice.
She turned completely away from him, to Gerald Crich, whose eyes wereshining with a subtle amusement.
'Were you ever vewy much afwaid of the savages?' she asked in her calm,dull childish voice.
'No--never very much afraid. On the whole they're harmless--they're notborn yet, you can't feel really afraid of them. You know you can managethem.'
'Do you weally? Aren't they very fierce?'
'Not very. There aren't many fierce things, as a matter of fact. Therearen't many things, neither people nor animals, that have it in them tobe really dangerous.'
'Except in herds,' interrupted Birkin.
'Aren't there really?' she said. 'Oh, I thought savages were all sodangerous, they'd have your life before you could look round.'
'Did you?' he laughed. 'They are over-rated, savages. They're too muchlike other people, not exciting, after the first acquaintance.'
'Oh, it's not so very wonderfully brave then, to be an explorer?'
'No. It's more a question of hardships than of terrors.'
'Oh! And weren't you ever afraid?'
'In my life? I don't know. Yes, I'm afraid of some things--of beingshut up, locked up anywhere--or being fastened. I'm afraid of beingbound hand and foot.'
She looked at him steadily with her dark eyes, that rested on him androused him so deeply, that it left his upper self quite calm. It wasrather delicious, to feel her drawing his self-revelations from him, asfrom the very innermost dark marrow of his body. She wanted to know.And her dark eyes seemed to be looking through into his naked organism.He felt, she was compelled to him, she was fated to come into contactwith him, must have the seeing him and knowing him. And this roused acurious exultance. Also he felt, she must relinquish herself into hishands, and be subject to him. She was so profane, slave-like, watchinghim, absorbed by him. It was not that she was interested in what hesaid; she was absorbed by his self-revelation, by HIM, she wanted thesecret of him, the experience of his male being.
Gerald's face was lit up with an uncanny smile, full of light androusedness, yet unconscious. He sat with his arms on the table, hissunbrowned, rather sinister hands, that were animal and yet veryshapely and attractive, pushed forward towards her. And they fascinatedher. And she knew, she watched her own fascination.
Other men had come to the table, to talk with Birkin and Halliday.Gerald said in a low voice, apart, to Pussum:
'Where have you come back from?'
'From the country,' replied Pussum, in a very low, yet fully resonantvoice. Her face closed hard. Continually she glanced at Halliday, andthen a black flare came over her eyes. The heavy, fair young manignored her completely; he was really afraid of her. For some momentsshe would be unaware of Gerald. He had not conquered her yet.
'And what has Halliday to do with it?' he asked, his voice still muted.
She would not answer for some seconds. Then she said, unwillingly:
'He made me go and live with him, and now he wants to throw me over.And yet he won't let me go to anybody else. He wants me to live hiddenin the country. And then he says I persecute him, that he can't get ridof me.'
'Doesn't know his own mind,' said Gerald.
'He hasn't any mind, so he can't know it,' she said. 'He waits for whatsomebody tells him to do. He never does anything he wants to dohimself--because he doesn't know what he wants. He's a perfect baby.'
Gerald looked at Halliday for some moments, watching the soft, ratherdegenerate face of the young man. Its very softness was an attraction;it was a soft, warm, corrupt nature, into which one might plunge withgratification.
'But he has no hold over you, has he?' Gerald asked.
'You see he MADE me go and live with him, when I didn't want to,' shereplied. 'He came and cried to me, tears, you never saw so many, sayingHE COULDN'T bear it unless I went back to him. And he wouldn't go away,he would have stayed for ever. He made me go back. Then every time hebehaves in this fashion. And now I'm going to have a baby, he wants togive me a hundred pounds and send me into the country, so that he wouldnever see me nor hear of me again. But I'm not going to do it, after--'
A queer look came over Gerald's face.
'Are you going to have a child?' he asked incredulous. It seemed, tolook at her, impossible, she was so young and so far in spirit from anychild-bearing.
She looked full into his face, and her dark, inchoate eyes had now afurtive look, and a look of a knowledge of evil, dark and indomitable.A flame ran secretly to his heart.
'Yes,' she said. 'Isn't it beastly?'
'Don't you want it?' he asked.
'I don't,' she replied emphatically.
'But--' he said, 'how long have you known?'
'Ten weeks,' she said.
All the time she kept her dark, inchoate eyes full upon him. Heremained silent, thinking. Then, switching off and becoming cold, heasked, in a voice full of considerate kindness:
'Is there anything we can eat here? Is there anything you would like?'
'Yes,' she said, 'I should adore some oysters.'
'All right,' he said. 'We'll have oysters.' And he beckoned to thewaiter.
Halliday took no notice, until the little plate was set before her.Then suddenly he cried:
'Pussum, you can't eat oysters when you're drinking brandy.'
'What has it go to do with you?' she asked.
'Nothing, nothing,' he cried. 'But you can't eat oysters when you'redrinking brandy.'
'I'm not drinking brandy,' she replied, and she sprinkled the lastdrops of her liqueur over his face. He gave an odd squeal. She satlooking at him, as if indifferent.
'Pussum, why do you do that?' he cried in panic. He gave Gerald theimpression that he was terrified of her, and that he loved his terror.He seemed to relish his own horror and hatred of her, turn it over andextract every flavour from it, in real panic. Gerald thought him astrange fool, and yet piquant.
'But Pussum,' said another man, in a very small, quick Eton voice, 'youpromised not to hurt him.'
'I haven't hurt him,' she answered.
'What will you drink?' the young man asked. He was dark, andsmooth-skinned, and full of a stealthy vigour.
'I don't like porter, Maxim,' she replied.
'You must ask for champagne,' came the whispering, gentlemanly voice ofthe other.
Gerald suddenly realised that this was a hint to him.
'Shall we have champagne?' he asked, laughing.
'Yes please, dwy,' she lisped childishly.
Gerald watched her eating the oysters. She was delicate and finickingin her eating, her fingers were fine and seemed very sensitive in thetips, so she put her food apart with fine, small motions, she atecarefully, delicately. It pleased him very much to see her, and itirritated Birkin. They were all drin
king champagne. Maxim, the primyoung Russian with the smooth, warm-coloured face and black, oiled hairwas the only one who seemed to be perfectly calm and sober. Birkin waswhite and abstract, unnatural, Gerald was smiling with a constantbright, amused, cold light in his eyes, leaning a little protectivelytowards the Pussum, who was very handsome, and soft, unfolded like somered lotus in dreadful flowering nakedness, vainglorious now, flushedwith wine and with the excitement of men. Halliday looked foolish. Oneglass of wine was enough to make him drunk and giggling. Yet there wasalways a pleasant, warm naivete about him, that made him attractive.
'I'm not afwaid of anything except black-beetles,' said the Pussum,looking up suddenly and staring with her black eyes, on which thereseemed an unseeing film of flame, fully upon Gerald. He laugheddangerously, from the blood. Her childish speech caressed his nerves,and her burning, filmed eyes, turned now full upon him, oblivious ofall her antecedents, gave him a sort of licence.
'I'm not,' she protested. 'I'm not afraid of other things. Butblack-beetles--ugh!' she shuddered convulsively, as if the very thoughtwere too much to bear.
'Do you mean,' said Gerald, with the punctiliousness of a man who hasbeen drinking, 'that you are afraid of the sight of a black-beetle, oryou are afraid of a black-beetle biting you, or doing you some harm?'
'Do they bite?' cried the girl.
'How perfectly loathsome!' exclaimed Halliday.
'I don't know,' replied Gerald, looking round the table. 'Doblack-beetles bite? But that isn't the point. Are you afraid of theirbiting, or is it a metaphysical antipathy?'
The girl was looking full upon him all the time with inchoate eyes.
'Oh, I think they're beastly, they're horrid,' she cried. 'If I seeone, it gives me the creeps all over. If one were to crawl on me, I'mSURE I should die--I'm sure I should.'
'I hope not,' whispered the young Russian.
'I'm sure I should, Maxim,' she asseverated.
'Then one won't crawl on you,' said Gerald, smiling and knowing. Insome strange way he understood her.
'It's metaphysical, as Gerald says,' Birkin stated.
There was a little pause of uneasiness.
'And are you afraid of nothing else, Pussum?' asked the young Russian,in his quick, hushed, elegant manner.
'Not weally,' she said. 'I am afwaid of some things, but not weally thesame. I'm not afwaid of BLOOD.'
'Not afwaid of blood!' exclaimed a young man with a thick, pale,jeering face, who had just come to the table and was drinking whisky.
The Pussum turned on him a sulky look of dislike, low and ugly.
'Aren't you really afraid of blud?' the other persisted, a sneer allover his face.
'No, I'm not,' she retorted.
'Why, have you ever seen blood, except in a dentist's spittoon?' jeeredthe young man.
'I wasn't speaking to you,' she replied rather superbly.
'You can answer me, can't you?' he said.
For reply, she suddenly jabbed a knife across his thick, pale hand. Hestarted up with a vulgar curse.
'Show's what you are,' said the Pussum in contempt.
'Curse you,' said the young man, standing by the table and looking downat her with acrid malevolence.
'Stop that,' said Gerald, in quick, instinctive command.
The young man stood looking down at her with sardonic contempt, acowed, self-conscious look on his thick, pale face. The blood began toflow from his hand.
'Oh, how horrible, take it away!' squealed Halliday, turning green andaverting his face.
'D'you feel ill?' asked the sardonic young man, in some concern. 'Doyou feel ill, Julius? Garn, it's nothing, man, don't give her thepleasure of letting her think she's performed a feat--don't give herthe satisfaction, man--it's just what she wants.'
'Oh!' squealed Halliday.
'He's going to cat, Maxim,' said the Pussum warningly. The suave youngRussian rose and took Halliday by the arm, leading him away. Birkin,white and diminished, looked on as if he were displeased. The wounded,sardonic young man moved away, ignoring his bleeding hand in the mostconspicuous fashion.
'He's an awful coward, really,' said the Pussum to Gerald. 'He's gotsuch an influence over Julius.'
'Who is he?' asked Gerald.
'He's a Jew, really. I can't bear him.'
'Well, he's quite unimportant. But what's wrong with Halliday?'
'Julius's the most awful coward you've ever seen,' she cried. 'Healways faints if I lift a knife--he's tewwified of me.'
'H'm!' said Gerald.
'They're all afwaid of me,' she said. 'Only the Jew thinks he's goingto show his courage. But he's the biggest coward of them all, really,because he's afwaid what people will think about him--and Juliusdoesn't care about that.'
'They've a lot of valour between them,' said Gerald good-humouredly.
The Pussum looked at him with a slow, slow smile. She was veryhandsome, flushed, and confident in dreadful knowledge. Two littlepoints of light glinted on Gerald's eyes.
'Why do they call you Pussum, because you're like a cat?' he asked her.
'I expect so,' she said.
The smile grew more intense on his face.
'You are, rather; or a young, female panther.'
'Oh God, Gerald!' said Birkin, in some disgust.
They both looked uneasily at Birkin.
'You're silent tonight, Wupert,' she said to him, with a slightinsolence, being safe with the other man.
Halliday was coming back, looking forlorn and sick.
'Pussum,' he said, 'I wish you wouldn't do these things--Oh!' He sankin his chair with a groan.
'You'd better go home,' she said to him.
'I WILL go home,' he said. 'But won't you all come along. Won't youcome round to the flat?' he said to Gerald. 'I should be so glad if youwould. Do--that'll be splendid. I say?' He looked round for a waiter.'Get me a taxi.' Then he groaned again. 'Oh I do feel--perfectlyghastly! Pussum, you see what you do to me.'
'Then why are you such an idiot?' she said with sullen calm.
'But I'm not an idiot! Oh, how awful! Do come, everybody, it will be sosplendid. Pussum, you are coming. What? Oh but you MUST come, yes, youmust. What? Oh, my dear girl, don't make a fuss now, I feelperfectly--Oh, it's so ghastly--Ho!--er! Oh!'
'You know you can't drink,' she said to him, coldly.
'I tell you it isn't drink--it's your disgusting behaviour, Pussum,it's nothing else. Oh, how awful! Libidnikov, do let us go.'
'He's only drunk one glass--only one glass,' came the rapid, hushedvoice of the young Russian.
They all moved off to the door. The girl kept near to Gerald, andseemed to be at one in her motion with him. He was aware of this, andfilled with demon-satisfaction that his motion held good for two. Heheld her in the hollow of his will, and she was soft, secret, invisiblein her stirring there.
They crowded five of them into the taxi-cab. Halliday lurched in first,and dropped into his seat against the other window. Then the Pussumtook her place, and Gerald sat next to her. They heard the youngRussian giving orders to the driver, then they were all seated in thedark, crowded close together, Halliday groaning and leaning out of thewindow. They felt the swift, muffled motion of the car.
The Pussum sat near to Gerald, and she seemed to become soft, subtly toinfuse herself into his bones, as if she were passing into him in ablack, electric flow. Her being suffused into his veins like a magneticdarkness, and concentrated at the base of his spine like a fearfulsource of power. Meanwhile her voice sounded out reedy and nonchalant,as she talked indifferently with Birkin and with Maxim. Between her andGerald was this silence and this black, electric comprehension in thedarkness. Then she found his hand, and grasped it in her own firm,small clasp. It was so utterly dark, and yet such a naked statement,that rapid vibrations ran through his blood and over his brain, he wasno longer responsible. Still her voice rang on like a bell, tinged witha tone of mockery. And as she swung her head, her fine mane of hairjust swept his face, and all his nerves w
ere on fire, as with a subtlefriction of electricity. But the great centre of his force held steady,a magnificent pride to him, at the base of his spine.
They arrived at a large block of buildings, went up in a lift, andpresently a door was being opened for them by a Hindu. Gerald looked insurprise, wondering if he were a gentleman, one of the Hindus down fromOxford, perhaps. But no, he was the man-servant.
'Make tea, Hasan,' said Halliday.
'There is a room for me?' said Birkin.
To both of which questions the man grinned, and murmured.
He made Gerald uncertain, because, being tall and slender and reticent,he looked like a gentleman.
'Who is your servant?' he asked of Halliday. 'He looks a swell.'
'Oh yes--that's because he's dressed in another man's clothes. He'sanything but a swell, really. We found him in the road, starving. So Itook him here, and another man gave him clothes. He's anything but whathe seems to be--his only advantage is that he can't speak English andcan't understand it, so he's perfectly safe.'
'He's very dirty,' said the young Russian swiftly and silently.
Directly, the man appeared in the doorway.
'What is it?' said Halliday.
The Hindu grinned, and murmured shyly:
'Want to speak to master.'
Gerald watched curiously. The fellow in the doorway was goodlooking andclean-limbed, his bearing was calm, he looked elegant, aristocratic.Yet he was half a savage, grinning foolishly. Halliday went out intothe corridor to speak with him.
'What?' they heard his voice. 'What? What do you say? Tell me again.What? Want money? Want MORE money? But what do you want money for?'There was the confused sound of the Hindu's talking, then Hallidayappeared in the room, smiling also foolishly, and saying:
'He says he wants money to buy underclothing. Can anybody lend me ashilling? Oh thanks, a shilling will do to buy all the underclothes hewants.' He took the money from Gerald and went out into the passageagain, where they heard him saying, 'You can't want more money, you hadthree and six yesterday. You mustn't ask for any more. Bring the tea inquickly.'
Gerald looked round the room. It was an ordinary London sitting-room ina flat, evidently taken furnished, rather common and ugly. But therewere several negro statues, wood-carvings from West Africa, strange anddisturbing, the carved negroes looked almost like the foetus of a humanbeing. One was a woman sitting naked in a strange posture, and lookingtortured, her abdomen stuck out. The young Russian explained that shewas sitting in child-birth, clutching the ends of the band that hungfrom her neck, one in each hand, so that she could bear down, and helplabour. The strange, transfixed, rudimentary face of the woman againreminded Gerald of a foetus, it was also rather wonderful, conveyingthe suggestion of the extreme of physical sensation, beyond the limitsof mental consciousness.
'Aren't they rather obscene?' he asked, disapproving.
'I don't know,' murmured the other rapidly. 'I have never defined theobscene. I think they are very good.'
Gerald turned away. There were one or two new pictures in the room, inthe Futurist manner; there was a large piano. And these, with someordinary London lodging-house furniture of the better sort, completedthe whole.
The Pussum had taken off her hat and coat, and was seated on the sofa.She was evidently quite at home in the house, but uncertain, suspended.She did not quite know her position. Her alliance for the time beingwas with Gerald, and she did not know how far this was admitted by anyof the men. She was considering how she should carry off the situation.She was determined to have her experience. Now, at this eleventh hour,she was not to be baulked. Her face was flushed as with battle, her eyewas brooding but inevitable.
The man came in with tea and a bottle of Kummel. He set the tray on alittle table before the couch.
'Pussum,' said Halliday, 'pour out the tea.'
She did not move.
'Won't you do it?' Halliday repeated, in a state of nervousapprehension.
'I've not come back here as it was before,' she said. 'I only camebecause the others wanted me to, not for your sake.'
'My dear Pussum, you know you are your own mistress. I don't want youto do anything but use the flat for your own convenience--you know it,I've told you so many times.'
She did not reply, but silently, reservedly reached for the tea-pot.They all sat round and drank tea. Gerald could feel the electricconnection between him and her so strongly, as she sat there quiet andwithheld, that another set of conditions altogether had come to pass.Her silence and her immutability perplexed him. HOW was he going tocome to her? And yet he felt it quite inevitable. He trusted completelyto the current that held them. His perplexity was only superficial, newconditions reigned, the old were surpassed; here one did as one waspossessed to do, no matter what it was.
Birkin rose. It was nearly one o'clock.
'I'm going to bed,' he said. 'Gerald, I'll ring you up in the morningat your place or you ring me up here.'
'Right,' said Gerald, and Birkin went out.
When he was well gone, Halliday said in a stimulated voice, to Gerald:
'I say, won't you stay here--oh do!'
'You can't put everybody up,' said Gerald.
'Oh but I can, perfectly--there are three more beds besides mine--dostay, won't you. Everything is quite ready--there is always somebodyhere--I always put people up--I love having the house crowded.'
'But there are only two rooms,' said the Pussum, in a cold, hostilevoice, 'now Rupert's here.'
'I know there are only two rooms,' said Halliday, in his odd, high wayof speaking. 'But what does that matter?'
He was smiling rather foolishly, and he spoke eagerly, with aninsinuating determination.
'Julius and I will share one room,' said the Russian in his discreet,precise voice. Halliday and he were friends since Eton.
'It's very simple,' said Gerald, rising and pressing back his arms,stretching himself. Then he went again to look at one of the pictures.Every one of his limbs was turgid with electric force, and his back wastense like a tiger's, with slumbering fire. He was very proud.
The Pussum rose. She gave a black look at Halliday, black and deadly,which brought the rather foolishly pleased smile to that young man'sface. Then she went out of the room, with a cold good-night to them allgenerally.
There was a brief interval, they heard a door close, then Maxim said,in his refined voice:
'That's all right.'
He looked significantly at Gerald, and said again, with a silent nod:
'That's all right--you're all right.'
Gerald looked at the smooth, ruddy, comely face, and at the strange,significant eyes, and it seemed as if the voice of the young Russian,so small and perfect, sounded in the blood rather than in the air.
'I'M all right then,' said Gerald.
'Yes! Yes! You're all right,' said the Russian.
Halliday continued to smile, and to say nothing.
Suddenly the Pussum appeared again in the door, her small, childishface looking sullen and vindictive.
'I know you want to catch me out,' came her cold, rather resonantvoice. 'But I don't care, I don't care how much you catch me out.'
She turned and was gone again. She had been wearing a loosedressing-gown of purple silk, tied round her waist. She looked so smalland childish and vulnerable, almost pitiful. And yet the black looks ofher eyes made Gerald feel drowned in some potent darkness that almostfrightened him.
The men lit another cigarette and talked casually.
Women in Love Page 6
