There was a dangerous pause.

‘We knew you were going to get married, did we? Knew! Why, does anybody know anything about you, you shifty bitch!’

‘Father!’ cried Gudrun, flushing deep in violent remonstrance. Then, in a cold, but gentle voice, as if to remind her sister to be tractable: ‘But isn’t it a FEARFULLY sudden decision, Ursula?’ she asked.

‘No, not really,’ replied Ursula, with the same maddening cheerfulness. ‘He’s been WANTING me to agree for weeks—he’s had the licence ready. Only I—I wasn’t ready in myself. Now I am ready—is there anything to be disagreeable about?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Gudrun, but in a tone of cold reproof. ‘You are perfectly free to do as you like.’

‘“Ready in yourself”—YOURSELF, that’s all that matters, isn’t it! “I wasn’t ready in myself,”’ he mimicked her phrase offensively. ‘You and YOURSELF, you’re of some importance, aren’t you?’

She drew herself up and set back her throat, her eyes shining yellow and dangerous.

‘I am to myself,’ she said, wounded and mortified. ‘I know I am not to anybody else. You only wanted to BULLY me—you never cared for my happiness.’

He was leaning forward watching her, his face intense like a spark.

‘Ursula, what are you saying? Keep your tongue still,’ cried her mother.

Ursula swung round, and the lights in her eyes flashed.

‘No, I won’t,’ she cried. ‘I won’t hold my tongue and be bullied. What does it matter which day I get married—what does it MATTER! It doesn’t affect anybody but myself.’

Her father was tense and gathered together like a cat about to spring.

‘Doesn’t it?’ he cried, coming nearer to her. She shrank away.

‘No, how can it?’ she replied, shrinking but stubborn.

‘It doesn’t matter to ME then, what you do—what becomes of you?’ he cried, in a strange voice like a cry.

The mother and Gudrun stood back as if hypnotised.

‘No,’ stammered Ursula. Her father was very near to her. ‘You only want to–’

She knew it was dangerous, and she stopped. He was gathered together, every muscle ready.

‘What?’ he challenged.

‘Bully me,’ she muttered, and even as her lips were moving, his hand had caught her smack at the side of the face and she was sent up against the door.

‘Father!’ cried Gudrun in a high voice, ‘it is impossible!’

He stood unmoving. Ursula recovered, her hand was on the door handle. She slowly drew herself up. He seemed doubtful now.

‘It’s true,’ she declared, with brilliant tears in her eyes, her head lifted up in defiance. ‘What has your love meant, what did it ever mean?—bullying, and denial–it did–’