girl with the hair down her back. 

 The wine was filled, and everybody was talking boisterously. At the far end of the table sat the mother, with her loosely-looped hair. She had Birkin for a neighbour. Sometimes she glanced fiercely down the rows of faces, bending forwards and staring unceremoniously. And she would say in a low voice to Birkin: 

 “Who is that young man?” 

 “I don’t know,” Birkin answered discreetly. 

 “Have I seen him before?” she asked. 

 “I don’t think so. I haven’t,” he replied. And she was satisfied. Her eyes closed wearily, a peace came over her face, she looked like a queen in repose. Then she started, a little social smile came on her face, for a moment she looked the pleasant hostess. For a moment she bent graciously, as if everyone were welcome and delightful. And then immediately the shadow came back, a sullen, eagle look was on her face, she glanced from under her brows like a sinister creature at bay, hating them all. 

 “Mother,” called Diana, a handsome girl a little older than Winifred, “I may have wine, mayn’t I?” 

 “Yes, you may have wine,” replied the mother automatically, for she was perfectly indifferent to the question. 

 And Diana beckoned to the footman to fill her glass. 

 “Gerald shouldn’t forbid me,” she said calmly, to the company at large. 

 “All right, Di,” said her brother amiably. And she glanced challenge at him as she drank from her glass. 

 There was a strange freedom, that almost amounted to anarchy, in the house. It was rather a resistance to authority, than liberty. Gerald had some command, by mere force of personality, not because of any granted position. There was a quality in his voice, amiable but dominant, that cowed the others, who were all younger than he. 

 Hermione was having a discussion with the bridegroom about nationality. 

 “No,” she said, “I think that the appeal to patriotism is a mistake. It is like one house of business rivalling another house of business.” 

 “Well you can hardly say that, can you?” exclaimed Gerald, who had a real passion for discussion. “You couldn’t call a race a business concern, could you?—and 

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