'How do you do, Gudrun?' sang Hermione, using the Christian name in the
fashionable manner. 'What are you doing?' 'How do you do, Hermione? I WAS sketching.' 'Were you?' The boat drifted nearer, till the keel ground on the bank.
'May we see? I should like to SO much.' It was no use resisting Hermione's deliberate intention.
'Well--' said Gudrun reluctantly, for she always hated to have her
unfinished work exposed--'there's nothing in the least interesting.' 'Isn't there? But let me see, will you?' Gudrun reached out the sketch-book, Gerald stretched from the boat to
take it. And as he did so, he remembered Gudrun's last words to him,
and her face lifted up to him as he sat on the swerving horse. An
intensification of pride went over his nerves, because he felt, in some
way she was compelled by him. The exchange of feeling between them was
strong and apart from their consciousness.
And as if in a spell, Gudrun was aware of his body, stretching and
surging like the marsh-fire, stretching towards her, his hand coming
straight forward like a stem. Her voluptuous, acute apprehension of him
made the blood faint in her veins, her mind went dim and unconscious.
And he rocked on the water perfectly, like the rocking of
phosphorescence. He looked round at the boat. It was drifting off a
little. He lifted the oar to bring it back. And the exquisite pleasure
of slowly arresting the boat, in the heavy-soft water, was complete as
a swoon.
'THAT'S what you have done,' said Hermione, looking searchingly at the
plants on the shore, and comparing with Gudrun's drawing. Gudrun looked
round in the direction of Hermione's long, pointing finger. 'That is
it, isn't it?' repeated Hermione, needing confirmation.
'Yes,' said Gudrun automatically, taking no real heed.
'Let me look,' said Gerald, reaching forward for the book. But Hermione
ignored him, he must not presume, before she had finished. But he, his
will as unthwarted and as unflinching as hers, stretched forward till
he touched the book. A little shock, a storm of revulsion against him,
shook Hermione unconsciously. She released the book when he had not
properly got it, and it tumbled against the side of the boat and
bounced into the water.
'There!' sang Hermione, with a strange ring of malevolent victory. 'I'm
so sorry, so awfully sorry. Can't you get it, Gerald?' This last was said in a note of anxious sneering that made Gerald's
veins tingle with fine hate for her. He leaned far out of the boat,
reaching down into the water. He could feel his position was
ridiculous, his loins exposed behind him.