The Pussum sat near to Gerald, and she seemed to become soft, subtly to infuse herself into his bones, as if she were passing into him in a black, electric flow. Her being suffused into his veins like a magnetic darkness, and concentrated at the base of his spine like a fearful source of power. Meanwhile her voice sounded out reedy and nonchalant, as she talked indifferently with Birkin and with Maxim. Between her and Gerald was this silence and this black, electric comprehension in the darkness. Then she found his hand, and grasped it in her own firm, small clasp. It was so utterly dark, and yet such a naked statement, that rapid vibrations ran through his blood and over his brain, he was no longer responsible. Still her voice rang on like a bell, tinged with a tone of mockery. And as she swung her head, her fine mane of hair just swept his face, and all his nerves were on fire, as with a subtle friction of electricity. But the great centre of his force held steady, a magnificent pride to him, at the base of his spine.

They arrived at a large block of buildings, went up in a lift, and presently a door was being opened for them by a Hindu. Gerald looked in surprise, wondering if he were a gentleman, one of the Hindus down from Oxford, perhaps. But no, he was the man–servant.

‘Make tea, Hasan,’ said Halliday.

‘There is a room for me?’ said Birkin.

To both of which questions the man grinned, and murmured.

He made Gerald uncertain, because, being tall and slender and reticent, he looked like a gentleman.

‘Who is your servant?’ he asked of Halliday. ‘He looks a swell.’

‘Oh yes—that’s because he’s dressed in another man’s clothes. He’s anything but a swell, really. We found him in the road, starving. So I took him here, and another man gave him clothes. He’s anything but what he seems to be—his only advantage is that he can’t speak English and can’t understand it, so he’s perfectly safe.’

‘He’s very dirty,’ said the young Russian swiftly and silently.

Directly, the man appeared in the doorway.

‘What is it?’ said Halliday.

The Hindu grinned, and murmured shyly:

‘Want to speak to master.’

Gerald watched curiously. The fellow in the doorway was goodlooking and clean–limbed, his bearing was calm, he looked elegant, aristocratic. Yet he was half a savage, grinning foolishly. Halliday went out into the corridor to speak with him.

‘What?’ they heard his voice. ‘What? What do you say? Tell me again. What? Want money? Want MORE money? But what do you want money for?’ There was the confused sound of the Hindu’s talking, then Halliday appeared in the room, smiling also foolishly, and saying:

‘He says he wants money to buy underclothing. Can anybody lend me a shilling? Oh thanks, a shilling will do to buy all the underclothes he wants.’ He took the money from Gerald and went out into the passage again, where they heard him saying, ‘You can’t want more money, you had three and six yesterday. You mustn’t ask for any more. Bring the tea in quickly.’