lingering as he swung away to recover balance。 Without speaking；
he took her hand across； under the wrap； and with his unseeing
face lifted to the road； his soul intent； he began with his one
hand to unfasten the buttons of her glove； to push back her
glove from her hand； carefully laying bare her hand。 And the
close…working； instinctive subtlety of his fingers upon her hand
sent the young girl mad with voluptuous delight。 His hand was so
wonderful； intent as a living creature skilfully pushing and
manipulating in the dark underworld； removing her glove and
laying bare her palm； her fingers。 Then his hand closed over
hers； so firm； so close； as if the flesh knitted to one thing
his hand and hers。 Meanwhile his face watched the road and the
ears of the horse； he drove with steady attention through the
villages； and she sat beside him； rapt； glowing； blinded with a
new light。 Neither of them spoke。 In outward attention they were
entirely separate。 But between them was the pact of his flesh
with hers； in the hand…clasp。
Then； in a strange voice； affecting nonchalance and
superficiality he said to her：
〃Sitting in the church there reminded me of Ingram。〃
〃Who is Ingram？〃 she asked。
She also affected calm superficiality。 But she knew that
something forbidden was ing。
〃He is one of the other men with me down at Chatham……a
subaltern……but a year older than I am。〃
〃And why did the church remind you of him？〃
〃Well； he had a girl in Rochester； and they always sat in a
particular corner in the cathedral for their love…making。〃
〃How nice！〃 she cried； impulsively。
They misunderstood each other。
〃It had its disadvantages though。 The verger made a row about
it。〃
〃What a shame！ Why shouldn't they sit in a cathedral？〃
〃I suppose they all think it a profanity……except you and
Ingram and the girl。〃
〃I don't think it a profanity……I think it's right； to
make love in a cathedral。〃
She said this almost defiantly； in despite of her own
soul。
He was silent。
〃And was she nice？〃
〃Who？ Emily？ Yes； she was rather nice。 She was a milliner；
and she wouldn't be seen in the streets with Ingram。 It was
rather sad； really； because the verger spied on them； and got to
know their names and then made a regular row。 It was a mon
tale afterwards。〃
〃What did she do？〃
〃She went to London； into a big shop。 Ingram still goes up to
see her。〃
〃Does he love her？〃
〃It's a year and a half he's been with her now。〃
〃What was she like？〃
〃Emily？ Little； shy…violet sort of girl with nice
eyebrows。〃
Ursula meditated this。 It seemed like real romance of the
outer world。
〃Do all men have lovers？〃 she asked； amazed at her own
temerity。 But her hand was still fastened with his； and his face
still had the same unchanging fixity of outward calm。
〃They're always mentioning some amazing fine woman or other；
and getting drunk to talk about her。 Most of them dash up to
London the moment they are free。〃
〃What for？〃
〃To some amazing fine woman or other。〃
〃What sort of woman？〃
〃Various。 Her name changes pretty frequently； as a rule。 One
of the fellows is a perfect maniac。 He keeps a suit…case always
ready； and the instant he is at liberty； he bolts with it to the
station； and changes in the train。 No matter who is in the
carriage； off he whips his tunic； and performs at least the top
half of his toilet。〃
Ursula quivered and wondered。
〃Why is he in such a hurry？〃 she asked。
Her throat was being hard and difficult。
〃He's got a woman in his mind； I suppose。〃
She was chilled； hardened。 And yet this world of passions and
lawlessness was fascinating to her。 It seemed to her a splendid
recklessness。 Her adventure in life was beginning。 It seemed
very splendid。
That evening she stayed at the Marsh till after dark； and
Skrebensky escorted her home。 For she could not go away from
him。 And she was waiting； waiting for something more。
In the warm of the early night； with the shadows new about
them； she felt in another； harder； more beautiful； less personal
world。 Now a new state should e to pass。
He walked near to her； and with the same； silent； intent
approach put his arm round her waist； and softly； very softly；
drew her to him； till his arm was hard and pressed in upon her；
she seemed to be carried along； floating； her feet scarce
touching the ground； borne upon the firm； moving surface of his
body； upon whose side she seemed to lie； in a delicious swoon of
motion。 And whilst she swooned； his face bent nearer to her； her
head was leaned on his shoulder； she felt his warm breath on her
face。 Then softly； oh softly； so softly that she seemed to faint
away； his lips touched her cheek； and she drifted through
strands of heat and darkness。
Still she waited； in her swoon and her drifting； waited； like
the Sleeping Beauty in the story。 She waited； and again his face
was bent to hers； his lips came warm to her face； their
footsteps lingered and ceased； they stood still under the trees；
whilst his lips waited on her face； waited like a butterfly that
does not move on a flower。 She pressed her breast a little
nearer to him； he moved； put both his arms round her； and drew
her close。
And then； in the darkness； he bent to her mouth； softly； and
touched her mouth with his mouth。 She was afraid； she lay still
on his arm； feeling his lips on her lips。 She kept still；
helpless。 Then his mouth drew near； pressing open her mouth； a
hot； drenching surge rose within her； she opened her lips to
him； in pained； poignant eddies she drew him nearer； she let him
e farther； his lips came and surging； surging； soft； oh soft；
yet oh； like the powerful surge of water； irresistible； till
with a little blind cry； she broke away。
She heard him breathing heavily； strangely； beside her。 A
terrible and magnificent sense of his strangeness possessed her。
But she shrank a little now； within herself。 Hesitating； they
continued to walk on； quivering like shadows under the ash trees
of the hill； where her grandfather had walked with his daffodils
to make his proposal； and where her mother had gone with her
young husband； walking close upon him as Ursula was now walking
upon Skrebensky。
Ursula was aware of the dark limbs of the trees stretching
overhead； clothed with leaves； and of fine ash leaves tressing
the summer night。
They walked with their bodies moving in plex unity； close
together。 He held her hand； and they went the long way round by
the road； to be farther。 Always she felt as if she were
supported off her feet； as if her feet were light as little
breezes in motion。
He would kiss her again……but not again that night with
the same deep……reaching kiss。 She was aware now； aware of
what a kiss might be。 And so； it was more difficult to e to
him。
She went to bed feeling all warm with electric warmth； as if
the gush of dawn were within her； upholding her。 And she slept
deeply； sweetly； oh； so sweetly。 In the morning she felt sound
as an ear of wheat； fragrant and firm and full。
They continued to be lovers； in the first wondering state of
unrealization。 Ursula told nobody； she was entirely lost in her
own world。
Yet some strange affectation made her seek for a spurious
confidence。 She had at school a quiet； meditative；
serious…souled friend called Ethel； and to Ethel must Ursula
confide the story。 Ethel listened absorbedly； with bowed；
unbetraying head； whilst Ursula told her secret。 Oh； it was so
lovely； his gentle； delicate way of making love！ Ursula talked
like a practiced lover。
〃Do you think；〃 asked Ursula； 〃it is wicked to let a man kiss
you……real kisses； not flirting？〃
〃I should think；〃 said Ethel； 〃it depends。〃
〃He kissed me under the ash trees on Cossethay hill……do
you think it was wrong？〃
〃When？〃
〃On Thursday night when he was seeing me home……but real
kisses……real……。 He is an officer in the army。〃
〃What time was it？〃 asked the deliberate Ethel。
〃I don't know……about half…past nine。〃
There was a pause。
〃I think it's wrong；〃 said Ethel； lifting her head with
impatience。 〃You don't know him。〃
She spoke with some contempt。
〃Yes； I do。 He is half a Pole； and a Baron too。 In E