David Herbert Lawrence

chameleon, a creature of change.'

'He is not a man, he is treacherous, not one of us,' said itself over

in Hermione's consciousness. And her soul writhed in the black

subjugation to him, because of his power to escape, to exist, other

than she did, because he was not consistent, not a man, less than a

man. She hated him in a despair that shattered her and broke her down,

so that she suffered sheer dissolution like a corpse, and was

unconscious of everything save the horrible sickness of dissolution

that was taking place within her, body and soul.

The house being full, Gerald was given the smaller room, really the

dressing-room, communicating with Birkin's bedroom. When they all took

their candles and mounted the stairs, where the lamps were burning

subduedly, Hermione captured Ursula and brought her into her own

bedroom, to talk to her. A sort of constraint came over Ursula in the

big, strange bedroom. Hermione seemed to be bearing down on her, awful

and inchoate, making some appeal. They were looking at some Indian silk

shirts, gorgeous and sensual in themselves, their shape, their almost

corrupt gorgeousness. And Hermione came near, and her bosom writhed,

and Ursula was for a moment blank with panic. And for a moment

Hermione's haggard eyes saw the fear on the face of the other, there

was again a sort of crash, a crashing down. And Ursula picked up a

shirt of rich red and blue silk, made for a young princess of fourteen,

and was crying mechanically:

'Isn't it wonderful--who would dare to put those two strong colours

together--'

Then Hermione's maid entered silently and Ursula, overcome with dread,

escaped, carried away by powerful impulse.

Birkin went straight to bed. He was feeling happy, and sleepy. Since he

had danced he was happy. But Gerald would talk to him. Gerald, in

evening dress, sat on Birkin's bed when the other lay down, and must

talk.

'Who are those two Brangwens?' Gerald asked.

'They live in Beldover.'

'In Beldover! Who are they then?'

'Teachers in the Grammar School.'

There was a pause.

'They are!' exclaimed Gerald at length. 'I thought I had seen them

before.'

'It disappoints you?' said Birkin.

'Disappoints me! No--but how is it Hermione has them here?'

'She knew Gudrun in London--that's the younger one, the one with the

darker hair--she's an artist--does sculpture and modelling.'

'She's not a teacher in the Grammar School, then--only the other?'

'Both--Gudrun art mistress, Ursula a class mistress.'

'And what's the father?'

'Handicraft instructor in the schools.'

'Really!'

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