shouldn’t forbid me,’ she said calmly, to the company at large.
‘All right, Di,’ said her brother amiably. And she glanced challenge at him as she drank from her glass.
There was a strange freedom, that almost amounted to anarchy, in the house. It was rather a resistance to authority, than liberty. Gerald had some command, by mere force of personality, not because of any granted position. There was a quality in his voice, amiable but dominant, that cowed the others, who were all younger than he.
Hermione was having a discussion with the bridegroom about nationality.
‘No,’ she said, ‘I think that the appeal to patriotism is a mistake. It is like one house of business rivalling another house of business.’
‘Well you can hardly say that, can you?’ exclaimed Gerald, who had a real PASSION for discussion. ‘You couldn’t call a race a business concern, could you? — and nationality roughly corresponds to race, I think. I think it is MEANT to.’
There was a moment’s pause. Gerald and Hermione were always strangely but politely and evenly inimical.
‘DO you think race corresponds with nationality?’ she asked musingly, with expressionless indecision.
Birkin knew she was waiting for him to participate. And dutifully he spoke up.
‘I think Gerald is right — race is the essential element in nationality, in Europe at least,’ he said.
Again Hermione paused, as if to allow this statement to cool. Then she said with strange assumption of authority:
‘Yes, but even so, is the patriotic appeal an appeal to the racial instinct? Is it not rather an appeal to the proprietory instinct, the COMMERCIAL instinct? And isn’t this what we mean by nationality?’
‘Probably,’ said Birkin, who felt that such a discussion was out of place and out of time.
But Gerald was now on the scent of argument.
‘A race may have its commercial aspect,’ he said. ‘In fact it must. It is like a family. You MUST make provision. And to make provision you have got to strive against other families, other nations. I don’t see why you shouldn’t.’
Again Hermione made a pause, domineering and cold, before she replied: ‘Yes, I think it is always wrong to provoke a spirit of rivalry. It makes bad blood. And bad blood accumulates.’
‘But you can’t do away with the spirit of emulation altogether?’ said Gerald. ‘It is one of the necessary incentives to production and improvement.’
‘Yes,’ came Hermione’s sauntering response. ‘I think you can do away with it.’
‘I must say,’ said Birkin, ‘I detest the spirit of emulation.’ Hermione was biting a piece of bread, pulling it from between her teeth with her fingers, in a slow, slightly derisive movement. She turned to Birkin.
‘You do hate it, yes,’ she said, intimate and gratified.
‘Detest it,’ he repeated.
‘Yes,’ she murmured, assured and satisfied.
‘But,’ Gerald insisted, ‘you don’t allow one man to take away his neighbour’s living, so why should you allow one nation to take away the living from another nation?’
There was a long slow murmur from Hermione before she broke into speech, saying with a laconic indifference:
‘It is not always a question of possessions, is it? It is not all a question of goods?’
Gerald was nettled by this implication of vulgar materialism.
‘Yes, more or less,’ he retorted. ‘If I go and take a man’s hat from off his head, that hat becomes a symbol of that man’s liberty. When he fights me for his hat, he is fighting me for his liberty.’
Hermione was nonplussed.
‘Yes,’ she said, irritated. ‘But that way of arguing by imaginary instances is not supposed to be genuine, is it? A man does NOT come and take my hat from off my head, does he?’
‘Only because the law prevents him,’ said Gerald.
‘Not only,’ said Birkin. ‘Ninety-nine men out of a hundred don’t want my hat.’
‘That’s a matter of opinion,’ said Gerald.
‘Or the hat,’ laughed the bridegroom.
‘And if he does want my hat, such as it is,’ said Birkin, ‘why, surely it is open to me to decide, which is a greater loss to me, my hat, or my liberty as a free and indifferent man. If I am compelled to offer fight, I lose the latter. It is a question which is worth more to me, my pleasant liberty of conduct, or my hat.’
‘Yes,’ said Hermione, watching Birkin strangely. ‘Yes.’
‘But would you let somebody come and snatch your hat off your head?’ the bride asked of Hermione.
The face of the tall straight woman turned slowly and as if drugged to this new speaker.
‘No,’ she replied, in a low inhuman tone, that seemed to contain a chuckle. ‘No, I shouldn’t let anybody take my hat off my head.’
‘How would you prevent it?’ asked Gerald.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Hermione slowly. ‘Probably I should kill him.’
There was a strange chuckle in her tone, a dangerous and convincing humour in her bearing.
‘Of course,’ said Gerald, ‘I can see Rupert’s point. It is a question to him whether his hat or his peace of mind is more important.’
‘Peace of body,’ said Birkin.
‘Well, as you like there,’ replied Gerald. ‘But how are you going to decide this for a nation?’
‘Heaven preserve me,’ laughed Birkin.
‘Yes, but suppose you have to?’ Gerald persisted.
‘Then it is the same. If the national crown-piece is an old hat, then the thieving gent may have it.’
‘But CAN the national or racial hat be an old hat?’ insisted Gerald.
‘Pretty well bound to be, I believe,’ said Birkin.
‘I’m not so sure,’ said Gerald.
‘I don’t agree, Rupert,’ said Hermione.
‘All right,’ said Birkin.
‘I’m all for the old national hat,’ laughed Gerald.
‘And a fool you look in it,’ cried Diana, his pert sister who was just in her teens.
‘Oh, we’re quite
