Winifred advanced with odd, stately formality.

‘We are so glad you’ve come back,’ she said. ‘These are your flowers.’ She presented the bouquet.

‘Mine!’ cried Gudrun. She was suspended for a moment, then a vivid flush went over her, she was as if blinded for a moment with a flame of pleasure. Then her eyes, strange and flaming, lifted and looked at the father, and at Gerald. And again Gerald shrank in spirit, as if it would be more than he could bear, as her hot, exposed eyes rested on him. There was something so revealed, she was revealed beyond bearing, to his eyes. He turned his face aside. And he felt he would not be able to avert her. And he writhed under the imprisonment.

Gudrun put her face into the flowers.

‘But how beautiful they are!’ she said, in a muffled voice. Then, with a strange, suddenly revealed passion, she stooped and kissed Winifred.

Mr Crich went forward with his hand held out to her.

‘I was afraid you were going to run away from us,’ he said, playfully.

Gudrun looked up at him with a luminous, roguish, unknown face.

‘Really!’ she replied. ‘No, I didn’t want to stay in London.’ Her voice seemed to imply that she was glad to get back to Shortlands, her tone was warm and subtly caressing.

‘That is a good thing,’ smiled the father. ‘You see you are very welcome here among us.’

Gudrun only looked into his face with dark–blue, warm, shy eyes. She was unconsciously carried away by her own power.

‘And you look as if you came home in every possible triumph,’ Mr Crich continued, holding her hand.

‘No,’ she said, glowing strangely. ‘I haven’t had any triumph till I came here.’

‘Ah, come, come! We’re not going to hear any of those tales. Haven’t we read notices in the newspaper, Gerald?’

‘You came off pretty well,’ said Gerald to her, shaking hands. ‘Did you sell anything?’

‘No,’ she said, ‘not much.’

‘Just as well,’ he said.

She wondered what he meant. But she was all aglow with her reception, carried away by this little flattering ceremonial on her behalf.

‘Winifred,’ said the father, ‘have you a pair of shoes for Miss Brangwen? You had better change at once—’

Gudrun went out with her bouquet in her hand.

‘Quite a remarkable young woman,’ said the father to Gerald, when she had gone.

‘Yes,’ replied Gerald briefly, as if he did not like the observation.

Mr Crich liked Gudrun to sit with him for half an hour. Usually he was ashy and wretched, with all the life gnawed out of him. But as soon as he rallied, he liked to make believe that he was just as before, quite well and in the midst of life—not of the outer world, but in the midst of a strong essential life. And to this belief, Gudrun contributed perfectly. With her, he could get by stimulation those precious half–hours of strength and exaltation and pure freedom, when he seemed to live more than he had ever lived.