Women in Love

Birkin had written to Ursula saying he expected to see her at the party, and Gudrun, although she scorned the patronage of the Criches, would nevertheless accompany her mother and father if the weather were fine.

The day came blue and full of sunshine, with little wafts of wind. The sisters both wore dresses of white crepe, and hats of soft grass. But Gudrun had a sash of brilliant black and pink and yellow colour wound broadly round her waist, and she had pink silk stockings, and black and pink and yellow decoration on the brim of her hat, weighing it down a little. She carried also a yellow silk coat over her arm, so that she looked remarkable, like a painting from the Salon. Her appearance was a sore trial to her father, who said angrily:

‘Don’t you think you might as well get yourself up for a Christmas cracker, an’ha’ done with it?’

But Gudrun looked handsome and brilliant, and she wore her clothes in pure defiance. When people stared at her, and giggled after her, she made a point of saying loudly, to Ursula:

‘Regarde, regarde ces gens-la! Ne sont-ils pas des hiboux incroyables?’ And with the words of French in her mouth, she would look over her shoulder at the giggling party.

‘No, really, it’s impossible!’ Ursula would reply distinctly. And so the two girls took it out of their universal enemy. But their father became more and more enraged.

Ursula was all snowy white, save that her hat was pink, and entirely without trimming, and her shoes were dark red, and she carried an orange-coloured coat. And in this guise they were walking all the way to Shortlands, their father and mother going in front.

They were laughing at their mother, who, dressed in a summer material of black and purple stripes, and wearing a hat of purple straw, was setting forth with much more of the shyness and trepidation of a young girl than her daughters ever felt, walking demurely beside her husband, who, as usual, looked rather crumpled in his best suit, as if he were the father of a young family and had been holding the baby whilst his wife got dressed.

‘Look at the young couple in front,’ said Gudrun calmly. Ursula looked at her mother and father, and was suddenly seized with uncontrollable laughter. The two girls stood in the road and laughed till the tears ran down their faces, as they caught sight again of the shy, unworldly couple of their parents going on ahead.

‘We are roaring at you, mother,’ called Ursula, helplessly following after her parents.

Mrs Brangwen turned round with a slightly puzzled, exasperated look. ‘Oh indeed!’ she said. ‘What is there so very funny about ME, I should like to know?’

She could not understand that there could be anything amiss with her appearance. She had a perfect calm sufficiency, an easy indifference to any criticism whatsoever, as if she were beyond it. Her clothes were always rather odd, and as a rule slip-shod, yet she wore them with a perfect ease and satisfaction. Whatever she had on, so long as she was barely tidy, she was right, beyond remark; such an aristocrat she was by instinct.

‘You look so stately, like a country Baroness,’ said Ursula, laughing with a little tenderness at her mother’s naive puzzled air.

‘JUST like a country Baroness!’ chimed in Gudrun. Now the mother’s natural hauteur became selfconscious, and the girls shrieked again.

‘Go home, you pair of idiots, great giggling idiots!’ cried the father inflamed with irritation.

‘Mm-m-er!’ booed Ursula, pulling a face at his crossness.

The yellow lights danced in his eyes, he leaned forward in real rage.

‘Don’t be so silly as to take any notice of the great gabies,’ said Mrs Brangwen, turning on her way.

‘I’ll see if I’m going to be followed by a pair of giggling yelling jackanapes—’ he cried vengefully.

The girls stood still, laughing helplessly at his fury, upon the path beside the hedge.

‘Why you’re as silly as they are, to take any notice,’ said Mrs Brangwen also becoming angry now he was really enraged.

‘There are some people coming, father,’ cried Ursula, with mocking warning. He glanced round quickly, and went on to join his wife, walking stiff with rage. And the girls followed, weak with laughter.

When the people had passed by, Brangwen cried in a loud, stupid voice:

‘I’m going back home if there’s any more of this. I’m damned if I’m going to be made a fool of in this fashion, in the public road.’

He was really out of temper. At the sound of his blind, vindictive voice, the laughter suddenly left the girls, and their hearts contracted with contempt. They hated his words ‘in the public road.’ What did they care for the public road? But Gudrun was conciliatory.

‘But we weren’t laughing to HURT you,’ she cried, with an uncouth gentleness which made her parents uncomfortable. ‘We were laughing because we’re fond of you.’