'Oh yes,' she cried. 'You both want to force me into something.'
'That is an illusion of yours,' he said ironically.
'Illusion!' cried her father. 'A self-opinionated fool, that's what she
is.'
Birkin rose, saying:
'However, we'll leave it for the time being.'
And without another word, he walked out of the house.
'You fool! You fool!' her father cried to her, with extreme bitterness.
She left the room, and went upstairs, singing to herself. But she was
terribly fluttered, as after some dreadful fight. From her window, she
could see Birkin going up the road. He went in such a blithe drift of
rage, that her mind wondered over him. He was ridiculous, but she was
afraid of him. She was as if escaped from some danger.
Her father sat below, powerless in humiliation and chagrin. It was as
if he were possessed with all the devils, after one of these
unaccountable conflicts with Ursula. He hated her as if his only
reality were in hating her to the last degree. He had all hell in his
heart.
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