Women in Love

They retraced their steps.

There--in front of some furniture, stood the young couple, the woman

who was going to have a baby, and the narrow-faced youth. She was fair,

rather short, stout. He was of medium height, attractively built. His

dark hair fell sideways over his brow, from under his cap, he stood

strangely aloof, like one of the damned.

'Let us give it to THEM,' whispered Ursula. 'Look they are getting a

home together.' 'I won't aid abet them in it,' he said petulantly, instantly

sympathising with the aloof, furtive youth, against the active,

procreant female.

'Oh yes,' cried Ursula. 'It's right for them--there's nothing else for

them.' 'Very well,' said Birkin, 'you offer it to them. I'll watch.' Ursula went rather nervously to the young couple, who were discussing

an iron washstand--or rather, the man was glancing furtively and

wonderingly, like a prisoner, at the abominable article, whilst the

woman was arguing.

'We bought a chair,' said Ursula, 'and we don't want it. Would you have

it? We should be glad if you would.' The young couple looked round at her, not believing that she could be

addressing them.

'Would you care for it?' repeated Ursula. 'It's really VERY

pretty--but--but--' she smiled rather dazzlingly.

The young couple only stared at her, and looked significantly at each

other, to know what to do. And the man curiously obliterated himself,

as if he could make himself invisible, as a rat can.

'We wanted to GIVE it to you,' explained Ursula, now overcome with

confusion and dread of them. She was attracted by the young man. He was

a still, mindless creature, hardly a man at all, a creature that the

towns have produced, strangely pure-bred and fine in one sense,

furtive, quick, subtle. His lashes were dark and long and fine over his

eyes, that had no mind in them, only a dreadful kind of subject, inward

consciousness, glazed and dark. His dark brows and all his lines, were

finely drawn. He would be a dreadful, but wonderful lover to a woman,

so marvellously contributed. His legs would be marvellously subtle and

alive, under the shapeless, trousers, he had some of the fineness and

stillness and silkiness of a dark-eyed, silent rat.

Ursula had apprehended him with a fine FRISSON of attraction. The

full-built woman was staring offensively. Again Ursula forgot him.

'Won't you have the chair?' she said.

The man looked at her with a sideways look of appreciation, yet faroff,

almost insolent. The woman drew herself up. There was a certain

costermonger richness about her. She did not know what Ursula was

after, she was on her guard, hostile. Birkin approached, smiling

wickedly at seeing Ursula so nonplussed and frightened.