Women in Love

The Brangwens went home to Beldover, the wedding-party gathered at

Shortlands, the Criches' home. It was a long, low old house, a sort of

manor farm, that spread along the top of a slope just beyond the narrow

little lake of Willey Water. Shortlands looked across a sloping meadow

that might be a park, because of the large, solitary trees that stood

here and there, across the water of the narrow lake, at the wooded hill

that successfully hid the colliery valley beyond, but did not quite

hide the rising smoke. Nevertheless, the scene was rural and

picturesque, very peaceful, and the house had a charm of its own.

It was crowded now with the family and the wedding guests. The father,

who was not well, withdrew to rest. Gerald was host. He stood in the

homely entrance hall, friendly and easy, attending to the men. He

seemed to take pleasure in his social functions, he smiled, and was

abundant in hospitality.

The women wandered about in a little confusion, chased hither and

thither by the three married daughters of the house. All the while

there could be heard the characteristic, imperious voice of one Crich

woman or another calling 'Helen, come here a minute,' 'Marjory, I want

you--here.' 'Oh, I say, Mrs Witham--.' There was a great rustling of

skirts, swift glimpses of smartly-dressed women, a child danced through

the hall and back again, a maidservant came and went hurriedly.

Meanwhile the men stood in calm little groups, chatting, smoking,

pretending to pay no heed to the rustling animation of the women's

world. But they could not really talk, because of the glassy ravel of

women's excited, cold laughter and running voices. They waited, uneasy,

suspended, rather bored. But Gerald remained as if genial and happy,

unaware that he was waiting or unoccupied, knowing himself the very

pivot of the occasion.

Suddenly Mrs Crich came noiselessly into the room, peering about with

her strong, clear face. She was still wearing her hat, and her sac coat

of blue silk.

'What is it, mother?' said Gerald.

'Nothing, nothing!' she answered vaguely. And she went straight towards

Birkin, who was talking to a Crich brother-in-law.

'How do you do, Mr Birkin,' she said, in her low voice, that seemed to

take no count of her guests. She held out her hand to him.

'Oh Mrs Crich,' replied Birkin, in his readily-changing voice, 'I

couldn't come to you before.' 'I don't know half the people here,' she said, in her low voice. Her

son-in-law moved uneasily away.

'And you don't like strangers?' laughed Birkin. 'I myself can never see

why one should take account of people, just because they happen to be

in the room with one: why SHOULD I know they are there?' 'Why indeed, why indeed!' said Mrs Crich, in her low, tense voice.

'Except that they ARE there. I don't know people whom I find in the

house. The children introduce them to me--"Mother, this is Mr

So-and-so." I am no further. What has Mr So-and-so to do with his own

name?--and what have I to do with either him or his name?' She looked up at Birkin. She startled him. He was flattered too that

she came to talk to him, for she took hardly any notice of anybody. He

looked down at her tense clear face, with its heavy features, but he

was afraid to look into her heavy-seeing blue eyes. He noticed instead

how her hair looped in slack, slovenly strands over her rather

beautiful ears, which were not quite clean. Neither was her neck

perfectly clean. Even in that he seemed to belong to her, rather than

to the rest of the company; though, he thought to himself, he was

always well washed, at any rate at the neck and ears.