‘I don’t want to serve either—’

‘No! And Gudrun will probably feel the same.’

Gerald thought for a few minutes. Then he said:

‘At all events, father won’t make her feel like a private servant. He will be fussy and greatful enough.’

‘So he ought. And so ought all of you. Do you think you can hire a woman like Gudrun Brangwen with money? She is your equal like anything—probably your superior.’

‘Is she?’ said Gerald.

‘Yes, and if you haven’t the guts to know it, I hope she’ll leave you to your own devices.’

‘Nevertheless,’ said Gerald, ‘if she is my equal, I wish she weren’t a teacher, because I don’t think teachers as a rule are my equal.’

‘Nor do I, damn them. But am I a teacher because I teach, or a parson because I preach?’

Gerald laughed. He was always uneasy on this score. He did not WANT to claim social superiority, yet he WOULD not claim intrinsic personal superiority, because he would never base his standard of values on pure being. So he wobbled upon a tacit assumption of social standing. No, Birkin wanted him to accept the fact of intrinsic difference between human beings, which he did not intend to accept. It was against his social honour, his principle. He rose to go.

‘I’ve been neglecting my business all this while,’ he said smiling.

‘I ought to have reminded you before,’ Birkin replied, laughing and mocking.

‘I knew you’d say something like that,’ laughed Gerald, rather uneasily.

‘Did you?’

‘Yes, Rupert. It wouldn’t do for us all to be like you are—we should soon be in the cart. When I am above the world, I shall ignore all businesses.’

‘Of course, we’re not in the cart now,’ said Birkin, satirically.

‘Not as much as you make out. At any rate, we have enough to eat and drink—’

‘And be satisfied,’ added Birkin.

Gerald came near the bed and stood looking down at Birkin whose throat was exposed, whose tossed hair fell attractively on the warm brow, above the eyes that were so unchallenged and still in the satirical face. Gerald, full–limbed and turgid with energy, stood unwilling to go, he was held by the presence of the other man. He had not the power to go away.

‘So,’ said Birkin. ‘Good–bye.’ And he reached out his hand from under the bed–clothes, smiling with a glimmering look.

‘Good–bye,’ said Gerald, taking the warm hand of his friend in a firm grasp. ‘I shall come again. I miss you down at the mill.’

‘I’ll be there in a few days,’ said Birkin.

The eyes of the two men met again. Gerald’s, that were keen as a hawk’s, were suffused now with warm light and with unadmitted love, Birkin looked back as out of a darkness, unsounded and unknown, yet with a kind of warmth, that seemed to flow over Gerald’s brain like a fertile sleep.