Women in Love

A school-day was drawing to a close. In the class-room the last lesson

was in progress, peaceful and still. It was elementary botany. The

desks were littered with catkins, hazel and willow, which the children

had been sketching. But the sky had come overdark, as the end of the

afternoon approached: there was scarcely light to draw any more. Ursula

stood in front of the class, leading the children by questions to

understand the structure and the meaning of the catkins.

A heavy, copper-coloured beam of light came in at the west window,

gilding the outlines of the children's heads with red gold, and falling

on the wall opposite in a rich, ruddy illumination. Ursula, however,

was scarcely conscious of it. She was busy, the end of the day was

here, the work went on as a peaceful tide that is at flood, hushed to

retire.

This day had gone by like so many more, in an activity that was like a

trance. At the end there was a little haste, to finish what was in

hand. She was pressing the children with questions, so that they should

know all they were to know, by the time the gong went. She stood in

shadow in front of the class, with catkins in her hand, and she leaned

towards the children, absorbed in the passion of instruction.

She heard, but did not notice the click of the door. Suddenly she

started. She saw, in the shaft of ruddy, copper-coloured light near

her, the face of a man. It was gleaming like fire, watching her,

waiting for her to be aware. It startled her terribly. She thought she

was going to faint. All her suppressed, subconscious fear sprang into

being, with anguish.

'Did I startle you?' said Birkin, shaking hands with her. 'I thought

you had heard me come in.' 'No,' she faltered, scarcely able to speak. He laughed, saying he was

sorry. She wondered why it amused him.

'It is so dark,' he said. 'Shall we have the light?' And moving aside, he switched on the strong electric lights. The

class-room was distinct and hard, a strange place after the soft dim

magic that filled it before he came. Birkin turned curiously to look at

Ursula. Her eyes were round and wondering, bewildered, her mouth

quivered slightly. She looked like one who is suddenly wakened. There

was a living, tender beauty, like a tender light of dawn shining from

her face. He looked at her with a new pleasure, feeling gay in his

heart, irresponsible.

'You are doing catkins?' he asked, picking up a piece of hazel from a

scholar's desk in front of him. 'Are they as far out as this? I hadn't

noticed them this year.' He looked absorbedly at the tassel of hazel in his hand.