They met again in the cafe several hours later. Gerald went through the
push doors into the large, lofty room where the faces and heads of the
drinkers showed dimly through the haze of smoke, reflected more dimly,
and repeated ad infinitum in the great mirrors on the walls, so that
one seemed to enter a vague, dim world of shadowy drinkers humming
within an atmosphere of blue tobacco smoke. There was, however, the red
plush of the seats to give substance within the bubble of pleasure.
Gerald moved in his slow, observant, glistening-attentive motion down
between the tables and the people whose shadowy faces looked up as he
passed. He seemed to be entering in some strange element, passing into
an illuminated new region, among a host of licentious souls. He was
pleased, and entertained. He looked over all the dim, evanescent,
strangely illuminated faces that bent across the tables. Then he saw
Birkin rise and signal to him.
At Birkin's table was a girl with dark, soft, fluffy hair cut short in
the artist fashion, hanging level and full almost like the Egyptian
princess's. She was small and delicately made, with warm colouring and
large, dark hostile eyes. There was a delicacy, almost a beauty in all
her form, and at the same time a certain attractive grossness of
spirit, that made a little spark leap instantly alight in Gerald's
eyes.
Birkin, who looked muted, unreal, his presence left out, introduced her
as Miss Darrington. She gave her hand with a sudden, unwilling
movement, looking all the while at Gerald with a dark, exposed stare. A
glow came over him as he sat down.
The waiter appeared. Gerald glanced at the glasses of the other two.
Birkin was drinking something green, Miss Darrington had a small
liqueur glass that was empty save for a tiny drop.
'Won't you have some more--?' 'Brandy,' she said, sipping her last drop and putting down the glass.
The waiter disappeared.
'No,' she said to Birkin. 'He doesn't know I'm back. He'll be terrified
when he sees me here.' She spoke her r's like w's, lisping with a slightly babyish
pronunciation which was at once affected and true to her character. Her
voice was dull and toneless.
'Where is he then?' asked Birkin.
'He's doing a private show at Lady Snellgrove's,' said the girl.
'Warens is there too.' There was a pause.
'Well, then,' said Birkin, in a dispassionate protective manner, 'what
do you intend to do?' The girl paused sullenly. She hated the question.
'I don't intend to do anything,' she replied. 'I shall look for some
sittings tomorrow.' 'Who shall you go to?' asked Birkin.