nationality roughly corresponds to race, I think. I think it is meant to.” 

 There was a moment’s pause. Gerald and Hermione were always strangely but politely and evenly inimical. 

 “Do you think race corresponds with nationality?” she asked musingly, with expressionless indecision. 

 Birkin knew she was waiting for him to participate. And dutifully he spoke up. 

 “I think Gerald is right—race is the essential element in nationality, in Europe at least,” he said. 

 Again Hermione paused, as if to allow this statement to cool. Then she said with strange assumption of authority: 

 “Yes, but even so, is the patriotic appeal an appeal to the racial instinct? Is it not rather an appeal to the proprietory instinct, the commercial instinct? And isn’t this what we mean by nationality?” 

 “Probably,” said Birkin, who felt that such a discussion was out of place and out of time. 

 But Gerald was now on the scent of argument. 

 “A race may have its commercial aspect,” he said. “In fact it must. It is like a family. You must make provision. And to make provision you have got to strive against other families, other nations. I don’t see why you shouldn’t.” 

 Again Hermione made a pause, domineering and cold, before she replied: “Yes, I think it is always wrong to provoke a spirit of rivalry. It makes bad blood. And bad blood accumulates.” 

 “But you can’t do away with the spirit of emulation altogether?” said Gerald. “It is one of the necessary incentives to production and improvement.” 

 “Yes,” came Hermione’s sauntering response. “I think you can do away with it.” 

 “I must say,” said Birkin, “I detest the spirit of emulation.” Hermione was biting a piece of bread, pulling it from between her teeth with her fingers, in a slow, slightly derisive movement. She turned to Birkin. 

 “You do hate it, yes,” she said, intimate and gratified. 

 “Detest it,” he repeated. 

 “Yes,” she murmured, assured and satisfied. 

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