'Well, what do you say?' he cried.
She winced. Then she glanced down at her father, half-frightened, and
she said: 'I didn't speak, did I?' as if she were afraid she might have committed
herself.
'No,' said her father, exasperated. 'But you needn't look like an
idiot. You've got your wits, haven't you?' She ebbed away in silent hostility.
'I've got my wits, what does that mean?' she repeated, in a sullen
voice of antagonism.
'You heard what was asked you, didn't you?' cried her father in anger.
'Of course I heard.' 'Well then, can't you answer?' thundered her father.
'Why should I?' At the impertinence of this retort, he went stiff. But he said nothing.
'No,' said Birkin, to help out the occasion, 'there's no need to answer
at once. You can say when you like.' Her eyes flashed with a powerful light.
'Why should I say anything?' she cried. 'You do this off your OWN bat,
it has nothing to do with me. Why do you both want to bully me?' 'Bully you! Bully you!' cried her father, in bitter, rancorous anger.
'Bully you! Why, it's a pity you can't be bullied into some sense and
decency. Bully you! YOU'LL see to that, you self-willed creature.' She stood suspended in the middle of the room, her face glimmering and
dangerous. She was set in satisfied defiance. Birkin looked up at her.
He too was angry.
'But none is bullying you,' he said, in a very soft dangerous voice
also.
'Oh yes,' she cried. 'You both want to force me into something.' 'That is an illusion of yours,' he said ironically.
'Illusion!' cried her father. 'A self-opinionated fool, that's what she
is.' Birkin rose, saying: 'However, we'll leave it for the time being.' And without another word, he walked out of the house.
'You fool! You fool!' her father cried to her, with extreme bitterness.
She left the room, and went upstairs, singing to herself. But she was
terribly fluttered, as after some dreadful fight. From her window, she
could see Birkin going up the road. He went in such a blithe drift of
rage, that her mind wondered over him. He was ridiculous, but she was
afraid of him. She was as if escaped from some danger.
Her father sat below, powerless in humiliation and chagrin. It was as
if he were possessed with all the devils, after one of these
unaccountable conflicts with Ursula. He hated her as if his only
reality were in hating her to the last degree. He had all hell in his
heart. But he went away, to escape himself. He knew he must despair,
yield, give in to despair, and have done.