‘What a lovely word—a Glckstritter!’ said Ursula. ‘So much nicer than a soldier of fortune.’

‘Yes, isn’t it?’ said Gudrun. ‘I’d tilt the world with a Glcksritter. But a home, an establishment! Ursula, what would it mean?—think!’

‘I know,’ said Ursula. ‘We’ve had one home—that’s enough for me.’

‘Quite enough,’ said Gudrun.

‘The little grey home in the west,’ quoted Ursula ironically.

‘Doesn’t it sound grey, too,’ said Gudrun grimly.

They were interrupted by the sound of the car. There was Birkin. Ursula was surprised that she felt so lit up, that she became suddenly so free from the problems of grey homes in the west.

They heard his heels click on the hall pavement below.

‘Hello!’ he called, his voice echoing alive through the house. Ursula smiled to herself. HE was frightened of the place too.

‘Hello! Here we are,’ she called downstairs. And they heard him quickly running up.

‘This is a ghostly situation,’ he said.

‘These houses don’t have ghosts—they’ve never had any personality, and only a place with personality can have a ghost,’ said Gudrun.

‘I suppose so. Are you both weeping over the past?’

‘We are,’ said Gudrun, grimly.

Ursula laughed.

‘Not weeping that it’s gone, but weeping that it ever WAS,’ she said.

‘Oh,’ he replied, relieved.

He sat down for a moment. There was something in his presence, Ursula thought, lambent and alive. It made even the impertinent structure of this null house disappear.

‘Gudrun says she could not bear to be married and put into a house,’ said Ursula meaningful—they knew this referred to Gerald.

He was silent for some moments.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘if you know beforehand you couldn’t stand it, you’re safe.’

‘Quite!’ said Gudrun.

‘Why DOES every woman think her aim in life is to have a hubby and a little grey home in the west? Why is this the goal of life? Why should it be?’ said Ursula.

‘Il faut avoir le respect de ses btises,’ said Birkin.

‘But you needn’t have the respect for the BETISE before you’ve committed it,’ laughed Ursula.

‘Ah then, des betises du papa?’

‘Et de la maman,’ added Gudrun satirically.

‘Et des voisins,’ said Ursula.

They all laughed, and rose. It was getting dark. They carried the things to the car. Gudrun locked the door of the empty house. Birkin had lighted the lamps of the automobile. It all seemed very happy, as if they were setting out.

‘Do you mind stopping at Coulsons. I have to leave the key there,’ said Gudrun.

‘Right,’ said Birkin, and they moved off.

They stopped in the main street. The shops were just lighted, the last miners were passing home along the causeways, half–visible shadows in their grey pit–dirt, moving through the blue air. But their feet rang harshly in manifold sound, along the pavement.