The Rainbow

"I don't know--about half-past nine."

There was a pause.

"I think it's wrong," said Ethel, lifting her head with

impatience. "You don't know him."

She spoke with some contempt.

"Yes, I do. He is half a Pole, and a Baron too. In England he

is equivalent to a Lord. My grandmother was his father's

friend."

But the two friends were hostile. It was as if Ursula

wanted to divide herself from her acquaintances, in

asserting her connection with Anton, as she now called him.

He came a good deal to Cossethay, because her mother was fond

of him. Anna Brangwen became something of a grande dame

with Skrebensky, very calm, taking things for granted.

"Aren't the children in bed?" cried Ursula petulantly, as she

came in with the young man.

"They will be in bed in half an hour," said the mother.

"There is no peace," cried Ursula.

"The children must live, Ursula," said her mother.

And Skrebensky was against Ursula in this. Why should she be

so insistent?

But then, as Ursula knew, he did not have the perpetual

tyranny of young children about him. He treated her mother with

great courtliness, to which Mrs. Brangwen returned an easy,

friendly hospitality. Something pleased the girl in her mother's

calm assumption of state. It seemed impossible to abate Mrs.

Brangwen's position. She could never be beneath anyone in public

relation. Between Brangwen and Skrebensky there was an

unbridgeable silence. Sometimes the two men made a slight

conversation, but there was no interchange. Ursula rejoiced to

see her father retreating into himself against the young

man.

She was proud of Skrebensky in the house. His lounging,

languorous indifference irritated her and yet cast a spell over

her. She knew it was the outcome of a spirit of

laissez-aller combined with profound young vitality. Yet

it irritated her deeply.

Notwithstanding, she was proud of him as he lounged in his

lambent fashion in her home, he was so attentive and courteous

to her mother and to herself all the time. It was wonderful to

have his awareness in the room. She felt rich and augmented by

it, as if she were the positive attraction and he the flow

towards her. And his courtesy and his agreement might be all her

mother's, but the lambent flicker of his body was for herself.

She held it.

She must ever prove her power.

"I meant to show you my little wood-carving," she said.

"I'm sure it's not worth showing, that," said her father.

"Would you like to see it?" she asked, leaning towards the

door.

And his body had risen from the chair, though his face seemed

to want to agree with her parents.

"It is in the shed," she said.

And he followed her out of the door, whatever his feelings

might be.