They made their preparations to leave the next day. First they went to
Gudrun's room, where she and Gerald were just dressed ready for the
evening indoors.
'Prune,' said Ursula, 'I think we shall go away tomorrow. I can't stand
the snow any more. It hurts my skin and my soul.' 'Does it really hurt your soul, Ursula?' asked Gudrun, in some
surprise. 'I can believe quite it hurts your skin--it is TERRIBLE. But
I thought it was ADMIRABLE for the soul.' 'No, not for mine. It just injures it,' said Ursula.
'Really!' cried Gudrun.
There was a silence in the room. And Ursula and Birkin could feel that
Gudrun and Gerald were relieved by their going.
'You will go south?' said Gerald, a little ring of uneasiness in his
voice.
'Yes,' said Birkin, turning away. There was a queer, indefinable
hostility between the two men, lately. Birkin was on the whole dim and
indifferent, drifting along in a dim, easy flow, unnoticing and
patient, since he came abroad, whilst Gerald on the other hand, was
intense and gripped into white light, agonistes. The two men revoked
one another.
Gerald and Gudrun were very kind to the two who were departing,
solicitous for their welfare as if they were two children. Gudrun came
to Ursula's bedroom with three pairs of the coloured stockings for
which she was notorious, and she threw them on the bed. But these were
thick silk stockings, vermilion, cornflower blue, and grey, bought in
Paris. The grey ones were knitted, seamless and heavy. Ursula was in
raptures. She knew Gudrun must be feeling VERY loving, to give away
such treasures.
'I can't take them from you, Prune,' she cried. 'I can't possibly
deprive you of them--the jewels.' 'AREN'T they jewels!' cried Gudrun, eyeing her gifts with an envious
eye. 'AREN'T they real lambs!' 'Yes, you MUST keep them,' said Ursula.
'I don't WANT them, I've got three more pairs. I WANT you to keep
them--I want you to have them. They're yours, there--' And with trembling, excited hands she put the coveted stockings under
Ursula's pillow.
'One gets the greatest joy of all out of really lovely stockings,' said
Ursula.
'One does,' replied Gudrun; 'the greatest joy of all.' And she sat down in the chair. It was evident she had come for a last
talk. Ursula, not knowing what she wanted, waited in silence.
'Do you FEEL, Ursula,' Gudrun began, rather sceptically, that you are
going-away-for-ever, never-to-return, sort of thing?' 'Oh, we shall come back,' said Ursula. 'It isn't a question of
train-journeys.' 'Yes, I know. But spiritually, so to speak, you are going away from us
all?' Ursula quivered.