Gerald walked with his queer, long wolf-steps across the bedroom to the window, stooped and looked out, then rose again, and turned to Gudrun, his eyes sharp with an abstract smile.He seemed very tall to her, she saw the glisten of his whitish eyebrows, that met between his brows.
`How do you like it?' he said.
He seemed to be laughing inside himself, quite unconsciously.She looked at him.He was a phenomenon to her, not a human being: a sort of creature, greedy.
`I like it very much,' she replied.
`Who do you like best downstairs?' he asked, standing tall and glistening above her, with his glistening stiff hair erect.
`Who do I like best?' she repeated, wanting to answer his question, and finding it difficult to collect herself.`Why I don't know, I don't know enough about them yet, to be able to say.Who do you like best?'
`Oh, I don't care -- I don't like or dislike any of them.It doesn't matter about me.I wanted to know about you.'
`But why?' she asked, going rather pale.The abstract, unconscious smile in his eyes was intensified.
`I wanted to know,' he said.
She turned aside, breaking the spell.In some strange way, she felt he was getting power over her.
`Well, I can't tell you already,' she said.
She went to the mirror to take out the hairpins from her hair.She stood before the mirror every night for some minutes, brushing her fine dark hair.It was part of the inevitable ritual of her life.
He followed her, and stood behind her.She was busy with bent head, taking out the pins and shaking her warm hair loose.When she looked up, she saw him in the glass standing behind her, watching unconsciously, not consciously seeing her, and yet watching, with finepupilled eyes that seemed to smile, and which were not really smiling.
She started.It took all her courage for her to continue brushing her hair, as usual, for her to pretend she was at her ease.She was far, far from being at her ease with him.She beat her brains wildly for something to say to him.
`What are your plans for tomorrow?' she asked nonchalantly, whilst her heart was beating so furiously, her eyes were so bright with strange nervousness, she felt he could not but observe.But she knew also that he was completely blind, blind as a wolf looking at her.It was a strange battle between her ordinary consciousness and his uncanny, black-art consciousness.
`I don't know,' he replied, `what would you like to do?'
He spoke emptily, his mind was sunk away.
`Oh,' she said, with easy protestation, `I'm ready for anything -- anything will be fine for me, I'm sure.'
And to herself she was saying: `God, why am I so nervous -- why are you so nervous, you fool.If he sees it I'm done for forever -- you know you're done for forever, if he sees the absurd state you're in.'
And she smiled to herself as if it were all child's play.Meanwhile her heart was plunging, she was almost fainting.She could see him, in the mirror, as he stood there behind her, tall and over-arching -- blond and terribly frightening.She glanced at his reflection with furtive eyes, willing to give anything to save him from knowing she could see him.He did not know she could see his reflection.He was looking unconsciously, glisteningly down at her head, from which the hair fell loose, as she brushed it with wild, nervous hand.She held her head aside and brushed and brushed her hair madly.For her life, she could not turn round and face him.For her life, she could not.And the knowledge made her almost sink to the ground in a faint, helpless, spent.She was aware of his frightening, impending figure standing close behind her, she was aware of his hard, strong, unyielding chest, close upon her back.And she felt she could not bear it any more, in a few minutes she would fall down at his feet, grovelling at his feet, and letting him destroy her.
The thought pricked up all her sharp intelligence and presence of mind.
She dared not turn round to him -- and there he stood motionless, unbroken.
Summoning all her strength, she said, in a full, resonant, nonchalant voice, that was forced out with all her remaining self-control:
`Oh, would you mind looking in that bag behind there and giving me my --'
Here her power fell inert.`My what -- my what --?' she screamed in silence to herself.
But he had started round, surprised and startled that she should ask him to look in her bag, which she always kept so very private to herself.
She turned now, her face white, her dark eyes blazing with uncanny, overwrought excitement.She saw him stooping to the bag, undoing the loosely buckled strap, unattentive.
`Your what?' he asked.
`Oh, a little enamel box -- yellow -- with a design of a cormorant plucking her breast --'
She went towards him, stooping her beautiful, bare arm, and deftly turned some of her things, disclosing the box, which was exquisitely painted.
`That is it, see,' she said, taking it from under his eyes.
And he was baffled now.He was left to fasten up the bag, whilst she swiftly did up her hair for the night, and sat down to unfasten her shoes.
She would not turn her back to him any more.
He was baffled, frustrated, but unconscious.She had the whip hand over him now.She knew he had not realised her terrible panic.Her heart was beating heavily still.Fool, fool that she was, to get into such a state!
How she thanked God for Gerald's obtuse blindness.Thank God he could see nothing.
She sat slowly unlacing her shoes, and he too commenced to undress.
Thank God that crisis was over.She felt almost fond of him now, almost in love with him.
`Ah, Gerald,' she laughed, caressively, teasingly, `Ah, what a fine game you played with the Professor's daughter -- didn't you now?'
`What game?' he asked, looking round.
` Isn't she in love with you -- oh dear, isn't she in love with you!' said Gudrun, in her gayest, most attractive mood.
`I shouldn't think so,' he said.
