force her life from them. She was rather pale and ghastly, as if left behind, in the morning. Yet she had her power, her will was strangely pervasive. With the entrance of the two young men a sudden tension was felt.

She lifted her face, and said, in her amused sing-song:

‘Good morning! Did you sleep well? I’m so glad.’

And she turned away, ignoring them. Birkin, who knew her well, saw that she intended to discount his existence.

‘Will you take what you want from the sideboard?’ said Alexander, in a voice slightly suggesting disapprobation. ‘I hope the things aren’t cold. Oh no! Do you mind putting out the flame under the chafingdish, Rupert? Thank you.’