'Good luck to you,' said Birkin.
'Same to you,' said the young woman. Then, rather tentatively: 'When's
yours coming off, then?' Birkin looked round at Ursula.
'It's for the lady to say,' he replied. 'We go to the registrar the
moment she's ready.' Ursula laughed, covered with confusion and bewilderment.
'No 'urry,' said the young man, grinning suggestive.
'Oh, don't break your neck to get there,' said the young woman. ''Slike
when you're dead--you're long time married.' The young man turned aside as if this hit him.
'The longer the better, let us hope,' said Birkin.
'That's it, guvnor,' said the young man admiringly. 'Enjoy it while it
larsts--niver whip a dead donkey.' 'Only when he's shamming dead,' said the young woman, looking at her
young man with caressive tenderness of authority.
'Aw, there's a difference,' he said satirically.
'What about the chair?' said Birkin.
'Yes, all right,' said the woman.
They trailed off to the dealer, the handsome but abject young fellow
hanging a little aside.
'That's it,' said Birkin. 'Will you take it with you, or have the
address altered.' 'Oh, Fred can carry it. Make him do what he can for the dear old 'ome.' 'Mike use of'im,' said Fred, grimly humorous, as he took the chair from
the dealer. His movements were graceful, yet curiously abject,
slinking.
''Ere's mother's cosy chair,' he said. 'Warnts a cushion.' And he stood
it down on the market stones.
'Don't you think it's pretty?' laughed Ursula.
'Oh, I do,' said the young woman.
''Ave a sit in it, you'll wish you'd kept it,' said the young man.
Ursula promptly sat down in the middle of the market-place.
'Awfully comfortable,' she said. 'But rather hard. You try it.' She
invited the young man to a seat. But he turned uncouthly, awkwardly
aside, glancing up at her with quick bright eyes, oddly suggestive,
like a quick, live rat.
'Don't spoil him,' said the young woman. 'He's not used to arm-chairs,
'e isn't.
The young man turned away, and said, with averted grin: 'Only warnts legs on 'is.' The four parted. The young woman thanked them.
'Thank you for the chair--it'll last till it gives way.' 'Keep it for an ornyment,' said the young man.
'Good afternoon--Good afternoon,' said Ursula and Birkin.
'Goo'-luck to you,' said the young man, glancing and avoiding Birkin's
eyes, as he turned aside his head.
The two couples went asunder, Ursula clinging to Birkin's arm. When
they had gone some distance, she glanced back and saw the young man
going beside the full, easy young woman. His trousers sank over his
heels, he moved with a sort of slinking evasion, more crushed with odd
self-consciousness now he had the slim old arm-chair to carry, his arm
over the back, the four fine, square tapering legs swaying perilously
near the granite setts of the pavement. And yet he was somewhere
indomitable and separate, like a quick, vital rat. He had a queer,
subterranean beauty, repulsive too.