He would be a dreadful, but wonderful lover to a woman,
so marvellously contributed. His legs would be marvellously subtle and
alive, under the shapeless, trousers, he had some of the fineness and
stillness and silkiness of a dark-eyed, silent rat.
Ursula had apprehended him with a fine FRISSON of attraction. The
full-built woman was staring offensively. Again Ursula forgot him.
'Won't you have the chair?' she said.
The man looked at her with a sideways look of appreciation, yet faroff,
almost insolent. The woman drew herself up. There was a certain
costermonger richness about her. She did not know what Ursula was
after, she was on her guard, hostile. Birkin approached, smiling
wickedly at seeing Ursula so nonplussed and frightened.
'What's the matter?' he said, smiling. His eyelids had dropped
slightly, there was about him the same suggestive, mocking secrecy that
was in the bearing of the two city creatures. The man jerked his head a
little on one side, indicating Ursula, and said, with curious amiable,
jeering warmth:
'What she warnt?--eh?' An odd smile writhed his lips.
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