'Yes, I brought it. But I forgot which one it was you wanted.' 'You would,' cried Rosalind angrily. 'It's right for a wonder.' Then they heard her say something in a lowered tone.
'Where?' cried Ursula.
Again her sister's voice was muffled.
Brangwen opened the door, and called, in his strong, brazen voice: 'Ursula.' She appeared in a moment, wearing her hat.
'Oh how do you do!' she cried, seeing Birkin, and all dazzled as if
taken by surprise. He wondered at her, knowing she was aware of his
presence. She had her queer, radiant, breathless manner, as if confused
by the actual world, unreal to it, having a complete bright world of
her self alone.
'Have I interrupted a conversation?' she asked.
'No, only a complete silence,' said Birkin.
'Oh,' said Ursula, vaguely, absent. Their presence was not vital to
her, she was withheld, she did not take them in. It was a subtle insult
that never failed to exasperate her father.
'Mr Birkin came to speak to YOU, not to me,' said her father.
'Oh, did he!' she exclaimed vaguely, as if it did not concern her.
Then, recollecting herself, she turned to him rather radiantly, but
still quite superficially, and said: 'Was it anything special?' 'I hope so,' he said, ironically.
'--To propose to you, according to all accounts,' said her father.
'Oh,' said Ursula.
'Oh,' mocked her father, imitating her. 'Have you nothing more to say?' She winced as if violated.
'Did you really come to propose to me?' she asked of Birkin, as if it
were a joke.
'Yes,' he said. 'I suppose I came to propose.' He seemed to fight shy
of the last word.
'Did you?' she cried, with her vague radiance. He might have been
saying anything whatsoever. She seemed pleased.
'Yes,' he answered. 'I wanted to--I wanted you to agree to marry me.' She looked at him. His eyes were flickering with mixed lights, wanting
something of her, yet not wanting it. She shrank a little, as if she
were exposed to his eyes, and as if it were a pain to her. She
darkened, her soul clouded over, she turned aside. She had been driven
out of her own radiant, single world. And she dreaded contact, it was
almost unnatural to her at these times.
'Yes,' she said vaguely, in a doubting, absent voice.
Birkin's heart contracted swiftly, in a sudden fire of bitterness. It
all meant nothing to her. He had been mistaken again. She was in some
self-satisfied world of her own. He and his hopes were accidentals,
violations to her. It drove her father to a pitch of mad exasperation.
He had had to put up with this all his life, from her.