Women in Love

'Not only,' said Birkin. 'Ninety-nine men out of a hundred don't want

my hat.' 'That's a matter of opinion,' said Gerald.

'Or the hat,' laughed the bridegroom.

'And if he does want my hat, such as it is,' said Birkin, 'why, surely

it is open to me to decide, which is a greater loss to me, my hat, or

my liberty as a free and indifferent man. If I am compelled to offer

fight, I lose the latter. It is a question which is worth more to me,

my pleasant liberty of conduct, or my hat.' 'Yes,' said Hermione, watching Birkin strangely. 'Yes.' 'But would you let somebody come and snatch your hat off your head?'

the bride asked of Hermione.

The face of the tall straight woman turned slowly and as if drugged to

this new speaker.

'No,' she replied, in a low inhuman tone, that seemed to contain a

chuckle. 'No, I shouldn't let anybody take my hat off my head.' 'How would you prevent it?' asked Gerald.

'I don't know,' replied Hermione slowly. 'Probably I should kill him.' There was a strange chuckle in her tone, a dangerous and convincing

humour in her bearing.

'Of course,' said Gerald, 'I can see Rupert's point. It is a question

to him whether his hat or his peace of mind is more important.' 'Peace of body,' said Birkin.

'Well, as you like there,' replied Gerald. 'But how are you going to

decide this for a nation?' 'Heaven preserve me,' laughed Birkin.

'Yes, but suppose you have to?' Gerald persisted.

'Then it is the same. If the national crown-piece is an old hat, then

the thieving gent may have it.' 'But CAN the national or racial hat be an old hat?' insisted Gerald.

'Pretty well bound to be, I believe,' said Birkin.

'I'm not so sure,' said Gerald.

'I don't agree, Rupert,' said Hermione.

'All right,' said Birkin.

'I'm all for the old national hat,' laughed Gerald.

'And a fool you look in it,' cried Diana, his pert sister who was just

in her teens.

'Oh, we're quite out of our depths with these old hats,' cried Laura

Crich. 'Dry up now, Gerald. We're going to drink toasts. Let us drink

toasts. Toasts--glasses, glasses--now then, toasts! Speech! Speech!' Birkin, thinking about race or national death, watched his glass being

filled with champagne. The bubbles broke at the rim, the man withdrew,

and feeling a sudden thirst at the sight of the fresh wine, Birkin

drank up his glass. A queer little tension in the room roused him. He

felt a sharp constraint.