Women in Love | Page 8

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