The next day Winifred, in a dress of silvery velvet, and holding a gaudy bunch of flowers in her hand, waited with keen impatience in the schoolroom, looking down the drive for Gudrun's arrival.It was a wet morning.Under her nose was the strange fragrance of hot-house flowers, the bunch was like a little fire to her, she seemed to have a strange new fire in her heart.This slight sense of romance stirred her like an intoxicant.
At last she saw Gudrun coming, and she ran downstairs to warn her father and Gerald.They, laughing at her anxiety and gravity, came with her into the hall.The man-servant came hastening to the door, and there he was, relieving Gudrun of her umbrella, and then of her raincoat.The welcoming party hung back till their visitor entered the hall.
Gudrun was flushed with the rain, her hair was blown in loose little curls, she was like a flower just opened in the rain, the heart of the blossom just newly visible, seeming to emit a warmth of retained sunshine.
Gerald winced in spirit, seeing her so beautiful and unknown.She was wearing a soft blue dress, and her stockings were of dark red.
Winifred advanced with odd, stately formality.
`We are so glad you've come back,' she said.`These are your flowers.'
She presented the bouquet.
`Mine!' cried Gudrun.She was suspended for a moment, then a vivid flush went over her, she was as if blinded for a moment with a flame of pleasure.
Then her eyes, strange and flaming, lifted and looked at the father, and at Gerald.And again Gerald shrank in spirit, as if it would be more than he could bear, as her hot, exposed eyes rested on him.There was something so revealed, she was revealed beyond bearing, to his eyes.He turned his face aside.And he felt he would not be able to avert her.And he writhed under the imprisonment.
Gudrun put her face into the flowers.
`But how beautiful they are!' she said, in a muffled voice.Then, with a strange, suddenly revealed passion, she stooped and kissed Winifred.
Mr Crich went forward with his hand held out to her.
`I was afraid you were going to run away from us,' he said, playfully.
Gudrun looked up at him with a luminous, roguish, unknown face.
`Really!' she replied.`No, I didn't want to stay in London.' Her voice seemed to imply that she was glad to get back to Shortlands, her tone was warm and subtly caressing.
`That is a good thing,' smiled the father.`You see you are very welcome here among us.'
Gudrun only looked into his face with dark-blue, warm, shy eyes.She was unconsciously carried away by her own power.
`And you look as if you came home in every possible triumph,' Mr Crich continued, holding her hand.
`No,' she said, glowing strangely.`I haven't had any triumph till Icame here.'
`Ah, come, come! We're not going to hear any of those tales.Haven't we read notices in the newspaper, Gerald?'
`You came off pretty well,' said Gerald to her, shaking hands.`Did you sell anything?'
`No,' she said, `not much.'
`Just as well,' he said.
She wondered what he meant.But she was all aglow with her reception, carried away by this little flattering ceremonial on her behalf.
`Winifred,' said the father, `have you a pair of shoes for Miss Brangwen?
You had better change at once --'
Gudrun went out with her bouquet in her hand.
`Quite a remarkable young woman,' said the father to Gerald, when she had gone.
`Yes,' replied Gerald briefly, as if he did not like the observation.
Mr Crich liked Gudrun to sit with him for half an hour.Usually he was ashy and wretched, with all the life gnawed out of him.But as soon as he rallied, he liked to make believe that he was just as before, quite well and in the midst of life -- not of the outer world, but in the midst of a strong essential life.And to this belief, Gudrun contributed perfectly.
With her, he could get by stimulation those precious half-hours of strength and exaltation and pure freedom, when he seemed to live more than he had ever lived.
She came to him as he lay propped up in the library.His face was like yellow wax, his eyes darkened, as it were sightless.His black beard, now streaked with grey, seemed to spring out of the waxy flesh of a corpse.
Yet the atmosphere about him was energetic and playful.Gudrun subscribed to this, perfectly.To her fancy, he was just an ordinary man.Only his rather terrible appearance was photographed upon her soul, away beneath her consciousness.She knew that, in spite of his playfulness, his eyes could not change from their darkened vacancy, they were the eyes of a man who is dead.
`Ah, this is Miss Brangwen,' he said, suddenly rousing as she entered, announced by the man-servant.`Thomas, put Miss Brangwen a chair here --that's right.' He looked at her soft, fresh face with pleasure.It gave him the illusion of life.`Now, you will have a glass of sherry and a little piece of cake.Thomas --'
`No thank you,' said Gudrun.And as soon as she had said it, her heart sank horribly.The sick man seemed to fall into a gap of death, at her contradiction.She ought to play up to him, not to contravene him.In an instant she was smiling her rather roguish smile.
`I don't like sherry very much,' she said.`But I like almost anything else.'
The sick man caught at this straw instantly.
`Not sherry! No! Something else! What then? What is there, Thomas?'
`Port wine -- curacao --'
`I would love some curacao --' said Gudrun, looking at the sick man confidingly.
`You would.Well then Thomas, curacao -- and a little cake, or a biscuit?'
`A biscuit,' said Gudrun.She did not want anything, but she was wise.
`Yes.'
He waited till she was settled with her little glass and her biscuit.
Then he was satisfied.
`You have heard the plan,' he said with some excitement, `for a studio for Winifred, over the stables?'
`No!' exclaimed Gudrun, in mock wonder.
`Oh! -- I thought Winnie wrote it to you, in her letter!'
`Oh -- yes -- of course.But I thought perhaps it was only her own little idea --' Gudrun smiled subtly, indulgently.The sick man smiled also, elated.
