Women in Love

They met again in the cafe several hours later. Gerald went through the

push doors into the large, lofty room where the faces and heads of the

drinkers showed dimly through the haze of smoke, reflected more dimly,

and repeated ad infinitum in the great mirrors on the walls, so that

one seemed to enter a vague, dim world of shadowy drinkers humming

within an atmosphere of blue tobacco smoke. There was, however, the red

plush of the seats to give substance within the bubble of pleasure.

Gerald moved in his slow, observant, glistening-attentive motion down

between the tables and the people whose shadowy faces looked up as he

passed. He seemed to be entering in some strange element, passing into

an illuminated new region, among a host of licentious souls. He was

pleased, and entertained. He looked over all the dim, evanescent,

strangely illuminated faces that bent across the tables. Then he saw

Birkin rise and signal to him.

At Birkin's table was a girl with dark, soft, fluffy hair cut short in

the artist fashion, hanging level and full almost like the Egyptian

princess's. She was small and delicately made, with warm colouring and

large, dark hostile eyes. There was a delicacy, almost a beauty in all

her form, and at the same time a certain attractive grossness of

spirit, that made a little spark leap instantly alight in Gerald's

eyes.

Birkin, who looked muted, unreal, his presence left out, introduced her

as Miss Darrington. She gave her hand with a sudden, unwilling

movement, looking all the while at Gerald with a dark, exposed stare. A

glow came over him as he sat down.

The waiter appeared. Gerald glanced at the glasses of the other two.

Birkin was drinking something green, Miss Darrington had a small

liqueur glass that was empty save for a tiny drop.

'Won't you have some more--?' 'Brandy,' she said, sipping her last drop and putting down the glass.

The waiter disappeared.

'No,' she said to Birkin. 'He doesn't know I'm back. He'll be terrified

when he sees me here.' She spoke her r's like w's, lisping with a slightly babyish

pronunciation which was at once affected and true to her character. Her

voice was dull and toneless.

'Where is he then?' asked Birkin.

'He's doing a private show at Lady Snellgrove's,' said the girl.

'Warens is there too.' There was a pause.

'Well, then,' said Birkin, in a dispassionate protective manner, 'what

do you intend to do?' The girl paused sullenly. She hated the question.

'I don't intend to do anything,' she replied. 'I shall look for some

sittings tomorrow.' 'Who shall you go to?' asked Birkin.