Speech travels between the separate parts.But in the perfect One there is perfect silence of bliss.
They were married by law on the next day, and she did as he bade her, she wrote to her father and mother.Her mother replied, not her father.
She did not go back to school.She stayed with Birkin in his rooms, or at the Mill, moving with him as he moved.But she did not see anybody, save Gudrun and Gerald.She was all strange and wondering as yet, but relieved as by dawn.
Gerald sat talking to her one afternoon in the warm study down at the Mill.Rupert had not yet come home.
`You are happy?' Gerald asked her, with a smile.
`Very happy!' she cried, shrinking a little in her brightness.
`Yes, one can see it.'
`Can one?' cried Ursula in surprise.
He looked up at her with a communicative smile.
`Oh yes, plainly.'
She was pleased.She meditated a moment.
`And can you see that Rupert is happy as well?'
He lowered his eyelids, and looked aside.
`Oh yes,' he said.
`Really!'
`Oh yes.'
He was very quiet, as if it were something not to be talked about by him.He seemed sad.
She was very sensitive to suggestion.She asked the question he wanted her to ask.
`Why don't you be happy as well?' she said.`You could be just the same.'
He paused a moment.
`With Gudrun?' he asked.
`Yes!' she cried, her eyes glowing.But there was a strange tension, an emphasis, as if they were asserting their wishes, against the truth.
`You think Gudrun would have me, and we should be happy?' he said.
`Yes, I'm sure !' she cried.
Her eyes were round with delight.Yet underneath she was constrained, she knew her own insistence.
`Oh, I'm so glad,' she added.
He smiled.
`What makes you glad?' he said.
`For her sake,' she replied.`I'm sure you'd -- you're the right man for her.'
`You are?' he said.`And do you think she would agree with you?'
`Oh yes!' she exclaimed hastily.Then, upon reconsideration, very uneasy:
`Though Gudrun isn't so very ******, is she? One doesn't know her in five minutes, does one? She's not like me in that.' She laughed at him with her strange, open, dazzled face.
`You think she's not much like you?' Gerald asked.
She knitted her brows.
`Oh, in many ways she is.But I never know what she will do when anything new comes.'
`You don't?' said Gerald.He was silent for some moments.Then he moved tentatively.`I was going to ask her, in any case, to go away with me at Christmas,' he said, in a very small, cautious voice.
`Go away with you? For a time, you mean?'
`As long as she likes,' he said, with a deprecating movement.
They were both silent for some minutes.
`Of course,' said Ursula at last, `she might just be willing to rush into marriage.You can see.'
`Yes,' smiled Gerald.`I can see.But in case she won't -- do you think she would go abroad with me for a few days -- or for a fortnight?'
`Oh yes,' said Ursula.`I'd ask her.'
`Do you think we might all go together?'
`All of us?' Again Ursula's face lighted up.`It would be rather fun, don't you think?'
`Great fun,' he said.
`And then you could see,' said Ursula.
`What?'
`How things went.I think it is best to take the honeymoon before the wedding -- don't you?'
She was pleased with this mot.He laughed.
`In certain cases,' he said.`I'd rather it were so in my own case.'
`Would you!' exclaimed Ursula.Then doubtingly, `Yes, perhaps you're right.One should please oneself.'
Birkin came in a little later, and Ursula told him what had been said.
`Gudrun!' exclaimed Birkin.`She's a born mistress, just as Gerald is a born lover -- amant en titre.If as somebody says all women are either wives or mistresses, then Gudrun is a mistress.'
`And all men either lovers or husbands,' cried Ursula.`But why not both?'
`The one excludes the other,' he laughed.
`Then I want a lover,' cried Ursula.
`No you don't,' he said.
`But I do,' she wailed.
He kissed her, and laughed.
It was two days after this that Ursula was to go to fetch her things from the house in Beldover.The removal had taken place, the family had gone.Gudrun had rooms in Willey Green.
Ursula had not seen her parents since her marriage.She wept over the rupture, yet what was the good of ****** it up! Good or not good, she could not go to them.So her things had been left behind and she and Gudrun were to walk over for them, in the afternoon.
It was a wintry afternoon, with red in the sky, when they arrived at the house.The windows were dark and blank, already the place was frightening.
A stark, void entrance-hall struck a chill to the hearts of the girls.
`I don't believe I dare have come in alone,' said Ursula.`It frightens me.'
`Ursula!' cried Gudrun.`Isn't it amazing! Can you believe you lived in this place and never felt it? How I lived here a day without dying of terror, I cannot conceive!'
They looked in the big dining-room.It was a good-sized room, but now a cell would have been lovelier.The large bay windows were naked, the floor was stripped, and a border of dark polish went round the tract of pale boarding.
In the faded wallpaper were dark patches where furniture had stood, where pictures had hung.The sense of walls, dry, thin, flimsy-seeming walls, and a flimsy flooring, pale with its artificial black edges, was neutralising to the mind.Everything was null to the senses, there was enclosure without substance, for the walls were dry and papery.Where were they standing, on earth, or suspended in some cardboard box? In the hearth was burnt paper, and scraps of half-burnt paper.
`Imagine that we passed our days here!' said Ursula.
`I know,' cried Gudrun.`It is too appalling.What must we be like, if we are the contents of this !'
`Vile!' said Ursula.`It really is.'
And she recognised half-burnt covers of `Vogue' -- half-burnt representations of women in gowns -- lying under the grate.
They went to the drawing-room.Another piece of shut-in air; without weight or substance, only a sense of intolerable papery imprisonment in nothingness.The kitchen did look more substantial, because of the red-tiled floor and the stove, but it was cold and horrid.
