Women in Love

'I am very well,' said Gerald. 'And you?' 'Oh I'm all wight. What about Wupert?' 'Rupert? He's very well, too.' 'Yes, I don't mean that. What about him being married?' 'Oh--yes, he is married.' The Pussum's eyes had a hot flash.

'Oh, he's weally bwought it off then, has he? When was he married?' 'A week or two ago.' 'Weally! He's never written.' 'No.' 'No. Don't you think it's too bad?' This last was in a tone of challenge. The Pussum let it be known by her

tone, that she was aware of Gudrun's listening.

'I suppose he didn't feel like it,' replied Gerald.

'But why didn't he?' pursued the Pussum.

This was received in silence. There was an ugly, mocking persistence in

the small, beautiful figure of the short-haired girl, as she stood near

Gerald.

'Are you staying in town long?' she asked.

'Tonight only.' 'Oh, only tonight. Are you coming over to speak to Julius?' 'Not tonight.' 'Oh very well. I'll tell him then.' Then came her touch of diablerie.

'You're looking awf'lly fit.' 'Yes--I feel it.' Gerald was quite calm and easy, a spark of satiric

amusement in his eye.

'Are you having a good time?' This was a direct blow for Gudrun, spoken in a level, toneless voice of

callous ease.

'Yes,' he replied, quite colourlessly.

'I'm awf'lly sorry you aren't coming round to the flat. You aren't very

faithful to your fwiends.' 'Not very,' he said.

She nodded them both 'Good-night', and went back slowly to her own set.

Gudrun watched her curious walk, stiff and jerking at the loins. They

heard her level, toneless voice distinctly.

'He won't come over;--he is otherwise engaged,' it said. There was more

laughter and lowered voices and mockery at the table.

'Is she a friend of yours?' said Gudrun, looking calmly at Gerald.

'I've stayed at Halliday's flat with Birkin,' he said, meeting her

slow, calm eyes. And she knew that the Pussum was one of his

mistresses--and he knew she knew.

She looked round, and called for the waiter. She wanted an iced

cocktail, of all things. This amused Gerald--he wondered what was up.

The Halliday party was tipsy, and malicious. They were talking out

loudly about Birkin, ridiculing him on every point, particularly on his

marriage.

'Oh, DON'T make me think of Birkin,' Halliday was squealing. 'He makes

me perfectly sick. He is as bad as Jesus. "Lord, WHAT must I do to be

saved!"' He giggled to himself tipsily.