Birkin was the good angel. He came smiling to them with his affected
social grace, that somehow was never QUITE right. But he took off his
hat and smiled at them with a real smile in his eyes, so that Brangwen
cried out heartily in relief:
'How do you do? You're better, are you?'
'Yes, I'm better. How do you do, Mrs Brangwen? I know Gudrun and Ursula
very well.'
His eyes smiled full of natural warmth. He had a soft, flattering
manner with women, particularly with women who were not young.
'Yes,' said Mrs Brangwen, cool but yet gratified. 'I have heard them
speak of you often enough.'
He laughed. Gudrun looked aside, feeling she was being belittled.
People were standing about in groups, some women were sitting in the
shade of the walnut tree, with cups of tea in their hands, a waiter in
evening dress was hurrying round, some girls were simpering with
parasols, some young men, who had just come in from rowing, were
sitting cross-legged on the grass, coatless, their shirt-sleeves rolled
up in manly fashion, their hands resting on their white flannel
trousers, their gaudy ties floating about, as they laughed and tried to
be witty with the young damsels.
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