The Rainbow

"But you will earn money?"

"I shall have my pay--I have my pay now. I've got my

commission. That is another hundred and fifty."

"You will have more, though?"

"I shan't have more than 200 pounds a year for ten years to

come. I shall always be poor, if I have to live on my pay."

"Do you mind it?"

"Being poor? Not now--not very much. I may later.

People--the officers, are good to me. Colonel Hepburn has a

sort of fancy for me--he is a rich man, I suppose."

A chill went over Ursula. Was he going to sell himself in

some way?

"Is Colonel Hepburn married?"

"Yes--with two daughters."

But she was too proud at once to care whether Colonel

Hepburn's daughter wanted to marry him or not.

There came a silence. Gudrun entered, and Skrebensky still

rocked languidly on the chair.

"You look very lazy," said Gudrun.

"I am lazy," he answered.

"You look really floppy," she said.

"I am floppy," he answered.

"Can't you stop?" asked Gudrun.

"No--it's the perpetuum mobile."

"You look as if you hadn't a bone in your body."

"That's how I like to feel."

"I don't admire your taste."

"That's my misfortune."

And he rocked on.

Gudrun seated herself behind him, and as he rocked back, she

caught his hair between her finger and thumb, so that it tugged

him as he swung forward again. He took no notice. There was only

the sound of the rockers on the floor. In silence, like a crab,

Gudrun caught a strand of his hair each time he rocked back.

Ursula flushed, and sat in some pain. She saw the irritation

gathering on his brow.

At last he leapt up, suddenly, like a steel spring going off,

and stood on the hearthrug.

"Damn it, why can't I rock?" he asked petulantly,

fiercely.

Ursula loved him for his sudden, steel-like start out of the

languor. He stood on the hearthrug fuming, his eyes gleaming

with anger.

Gudrun laughed in her deep, mellow fashion.

"Men don't rock themselves," she said.

"Girls don't pull men's hair," he said.

Gudrun laughed again.

Ursula sat amused, but waiting. And he knew Ursula was

waiting for him. It roused his blood. He had to go to her, to

follow her call.

Once he drove her to Derby in the dog-cart. He belonged to

the horsey set of the sappers. They had lunch in an inn, and

went through the market, pleased with everything. He bought her

a copy of Wuthering Heights from a bookstall. Then they found a

little fair in progress and she said: "My father used to take me in the swingboats."

"Did you like it?" he asked.

"Oh, it was fine," she said.

"Would you like to go now?"