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: