closer to Krebensky。
〃My love？〃 she said to him； questioningly； when the car was
again running in full motion。
He made no movement or sound。 He let her hold his hand； he
let her reach forward； in the gathering darkness； and kiss his
still cheek。 The crying had gone byhe would not cry any
more。 He was whole and himself again。
〃My love；〃 she repeated； trying to make him notice her。 But
as yet he could not。
He watched the road。 They were running by Kensington Gardens。
For the first time his lips opened。
〃Shall we get out and go into the park；〃 he asked。
〃Yes；〃 she said； quietly； not sure what was ing。
After a moment he took the tube from its peg。 She saw the
stout； strong； selfcontained driver lean his head。
〃Stop at Hyde Park Corner。〃
The dark head nodded； the car ran on just the same。
Presently they pulled up。 Skrebensky paid the man。 Ursula
stood back。 She saw the driver salute as he received his tip；
and then； before he set the car in motion； turn and look at her；
al's look； his eyes very
concentrated and the whites of his eyes flickering。 Then he
drove away into the crowd。 He had let her go。 She had been
afraid。
Skrebensky turned with her into the park。 A band was still
playing and the place was thronged with people。 They listened to
the ebbing music； then went aside to a dark seat； where they sat
closely； hand in hand。
Then at length； as out of the silence； she said to him；
wondering：
〃What hurt you so？〃
She really did not know； at this moment。
〃When you said you wanted never to marry me；〃 he replied；
with a childish simplicity。
〃But why did that hurt you so？〃 she said。 〃You needn't mind
everything I say so particularly。〃
〃I don't knowI didn't want to do it；〃 he said； humbly；
ashamed。
She pressed his hand warmly。 They sat close together；
watching the soldiers go by with their sweethearts； the lights
trailing in myriads down the great thoroughfares that beat on
the edge of the park。
〃I didn't know you cared so much；〃 she said； also humbly。
〃I didn't；〃 he said。 〃I was knocked over myself。But I
careall the world。〃
His voice was so quiet and colourless； it made her heart go
pale with fear。
〃My love！〃 she said； drawing near to him。 But she spoke out
of fear； not out of love。
〃I care all the worldI care for nothing
elseneither in life nor in death；〃 he said； in the same
steady； colourless voice of essential truth。
〃Than for what？〃 she murmured duskily。
〃Than for youto be with me。〃
And again she was afraid。 Was she to be conquered by this？
She cowered close to him； very close to him。 They sat perfectly
still； listening to the great； heavy； beating sound of the town；
the murmur of lovers going by； the footsteps of soldiers。
She shivered against him。
〃You are cold？〃 he said。
〃A little。〃
〃We will go and have some supper。〃
He was now always quiet and decided and remote； very
beautiful。 He seemed to have some strange； cold power over
her。
They went to a restaurant； and drank chianti。 But his pale；
wan look did not go away。
〃Don't leave me tonight；〃 he said at length； looking at her；
pleading。 He was so strange and impersonal； she was afraid。
〃But the people of my place；〃 she said； quivering。
〃I will explain to themthey know we are engaged。〃
She sat pale and mute。 He waited。
〃Shall we go？〃 he said at length。
〃Where？〃
〃To an hotel。〃
Her heart was hardened。 Without answering； she rose to
acquiesce。 But she was now cold and unreal。 Yet she could not
refuse him。 It seemed like fate； a fate she did not want。
They went to an Italian hotel somewhere； and had a sombre
bedroom with a very large bed； clean； but sombre。 The ceiling
was painted with a bunch of flowers in a big medallion over the
bed。 She thought it was pretty。
He came to her； and cleaved to her very close； like steel
cleaving and clinching on to her。 Her passion was roused； it was
fierce but cold。 But it was fierce； and extreme； and good； their
passion this night。 He slept with her fast in his arms。 All
night long he held her fast against him。 She was passive；
acquiscent。 But her sleep was not very deep nor very real。
She woke in the morning to a sound of water dashed on a
courtyard； to sunlight streaming through a lattice。 She thought
she was in a foreign country。 And Skrebensky was there an
incubus upon her。
She lay still； thinking； whilst his arm was round her； his
head against her shoulders； his body against hers； just behind
her。 He was still asleep。
She watched the sunshine ing in bars through the
persiennes； and her immediate surroundings again melted
away。
She was in some other land； some other world； where the old
restraints had dissolved and vanished； where one moved freely；
not afraid of one's fellow men； nor wary； nor on the defensive；
but calm； indifferent； at one's ease。 Vaguely； in a sort of
silver light； she wandered at large and at ease。 The bonds of
the world were broken。 This world of England had vanished away。
She heard a voice in the yard below calling：
〃O Giovann'O'O'O'Giovann'！〃
And she knew she was in a new country； in a new life。 It was
very delicious to lie thus still； with one's soul wandering
freely and simply in the silver light of some other； simpler；
more finely natural world。
But always there was a foreboding waiting to mand her。 She
became more aware of Skrebensky。 She knew he was waking up。 She
must modify her soul； depart from her further world； for
him。
She knew he was awake。 He lay still； with a concrete
stillness； not as when he slept。 Then his arm tightened almost
convulsively upon her； and he said； half timidly：
〃Did you sleep well？〃
〃Very well。〃
〃So did I。〃
There was a pause。
〃And do you love me？〃 he asked。
She turned and looked at him searchingly。 He seemed outside
her。
〃I do；〃 she said。
But she said it out of placency and a desire not to be
harried。 There was a curious breach of silence between them；
which frightened him。
They lay rather late； then he rang for breakfast。 She wanted
to be able to go straight downstairs and away from the place；
when she got up。 She was happy in this room； but the thought of
the publicity of the hall downstairs rather troubled her。
A young Italian； a Sicilian； dark and slightly pockmarked；
buttoned up in a sort of grey tunic； appeared with the tray。 His
face had an almost African imperturbability； impassive；
inprehensible。
〃One might be in Italy；〃 Skrebensky said to him； genially。 A
vacant look； almost like fear； came on the fellow's face。 He did
not understand。
〃This is like Italy；〃 Skrebensky explained。
The face of the Italian flashed with a nonprehending
smile； he finished setting out the tray； and was gone。 He did
not understand： he would understand nothing： he disappeared from
the door like a halfdomesticated wild animal。 It made Ursula
shudder slightly； the quick； sharpsighted； intent animality of
the man。
Skrebensky was beautiful to her this morning； his face
softened and transfused with suffering and with love； his
movements very still and gentle。 He was beautiful to her； but
she was detached from him by a chill distance。 Always she seemed
to be bearing up against the distance that separated them。 But
he was unaware。 This morning he was transfused and beautiful。
She admired his movements； the way he spread honey on his roll；
or poured out the coffee。
When breakfast was over； she lay still again on the pillows；
whilst he went through his toilet。 She watched him； as he
sponged himself； and quickly dried himself with the towel。 His
body was beautiful； his movements intent and quick； she admired
him and she appreciated him without reserve。 He seemed pleted
now。 He aroused no fruitful fecundity in her。 He seemed added
up； finished。 She knew him all round； not on any side did he
lead into the unknown。 Poignant； almost passionate appreciation
she felt for him； but none of the dreadful wonder； none of the
rich fear； the connection with the unknown； or the reverence of
love。 He was； however； unaware this morning。 His body was quiet
and fulfilled； his veins plete with satisfaction； he was
happy； finished。
Again she went home。 But this time he went with her。 He
wanted to stay by her。 He wanted her to marry him。 It was
already July。 In early September he must sail for India。 He
could not bear to think of going alone。 She must e with him。
Nervously； he kept beside her。
Her examination was finished； her college career was over。
There remained for her now to marry or to work again。 She
applied for no post。 It was concluded she would marry。 India
tempted herthe strange； strange land。 But with the
thought of Calcutta； or Bombay； or of Simla； and of the European
population； India was no more attractive to her than
Nottingham。
She had failed in her examination： she had gone down： she had
not taken her degree。 It was a blow to her。 It hardened her
soul。
〃It doesn't matter；〃 he said。 〃What are the odds； whether you
are a Bachelor of Arts or not； according to the London
University？ All you know； you know； and if you are Mrs。
Skrebensky； the B。A。 is meaningless。〃
Instead of consoling her； this made her harder； more
ruthless。 She was now up against her own fate。 It was for her to
choose between being Mrs。 Skrebensky； even Baroness Skrebensky；
wife of a lieutenant in the Royal Engineers； the Sappers； as he
called them； living with the European population in
Indiaor being Ursula Brangwen； spinster； schoolmistress。
She was qualified by her Intermediate Arts examination。 She
would probably even now get a post quite easily as assistant in
one of the higher grade schools； or even in Willey Green School。
Which was she to do？
She hated most of all entering the bondage of teaching once
more。 Very heartily she detested it。 Yet at the thought of
marriage and living with Skrebensky amid the European population
in India； her soul was locked and would not budge。 She had very
little feeling about it： only there was a deadlock。
Skrebensky waited； she waited； everybody waited for the
decision。 When Anton talked to her； and seemed insidiously to
suggest himself as a husband to her； she knew how utterly locked
out he was。 On the other hand； when she saw Dorothy； and
discussed the matter； she felt she would marry him promptly； at
once； as a sharp disavowal of adherence with Dorothy's
views。
The situation was almost ridiculous。
〃But do you love him？〃 asked Dorothy。
〃It isn't a question of loving him；〃 said Ursula。 〃I love him
well enoughcertainly more than I love anybody else in the
world。 And I shall never love anybody else the same again。 We
have had the flower of each other。 But I don't care about love。
I don't value it。 I don't care whether I love or whether I
don't； whether I have love or whether I haven't。 What is it to
me？〃
And she shrugged her shoulders in fierce； angry contempt。
Dorothy pondered； rather angry and afraid。
〃Then what do you care about？〃 she asked；
exasperated。
〃I don't know；〃 said Ursula。 〃But something impersonal。
Lovelovelovewhat does it meanwhat
does it amount to？ So much personal gratification。 It doesn't
lead anywhere。〃
〃It isn't supposed to lead anywhere； is