This monosyllable exploded in Brangwen's brain like a shot.
`Why! I don't believe in your new-fangled ways and new-fangled ideas -- in and out like a frog in a gallipot.It would never do for me.'
Birkin watched him with steady emotionless eyes.The radical antagnoism in the two men was rousing.
`Yes, but are my ways and ideas new-fangled?' asked Birkin.
`Are they?' Brangwen caught himself up.`I'm not speaking of you in particular,' he said.`What I mean is that my children have been brought up to think and do according to the religion I was brought up in myself, and I don't want to see them going away from that.'
There was a dangerous pause.
`And beyond that --?' asked Birkin.
The father hesitated, he was in a nasty position.
`Eh? What do you mean? All I want to say is that my daughter' -- he tailed off into silence, overcome by futility.He knew that in some way he was off the track.
`Of course,' said Birkin, `I don't want to hurt anybody or influence anybody.Ursula does exactly as she pleases.'
There was a complete silence, because of the utter failure in mutual understanding.Birkin felt bored.Her father was not a coherent human being, he was a roomful of old echoes.The eyes of the younger man rested on the face of the elder.Brangwen looked up, and saw Birkin looking at him.His face was covered with inarticulate anger and humiliation and sense of inferiority in strength.
`And as for beliefs, that's one thing,' he said.`But I'd rather see my daughters dead tomorrow than that they should be at the beck and call of the first man that likes to come and whistle for them.'
A queer painful light came into Birkin's eyes.
`As to that,' he said, `I only know that it's much more likely that it's I who am at the beck and call of the woman, than she at mine.'
Again there was a pause.The father was somewhat bewildered.
`I know,' he said, `she'll please herself -- she always has done.I've done my best for them, but that doesn't matter.They've got themselves to please, and if they can help it they'll please nobody but themselves.
But she's a right to consider her mother, and me as well -- '
Brangwen was thinking his own thoughts.
`And I tell you this much, I would rather bury them, than see them getting into a lot of loose ways such as you see everywhere nowadays.I'd rather bury them -- '
`Yes but, you see,' said Birkin slowly, rather wearily, bored again by this new turn, `they won't give either you or me the chance to bury them, because they're not to be buried.'
Brangwen looked at him in a sudden flare of impotent anger.
`Now, Mr Birkin,' he said, `I don't know what you've come here for, and I don't know what you're asking for.But my daughters are my daughters -- and it's my business to look after them while I can.'
Birkin's brows knitted suddenly, his eyes concentrated in mockery.But he remained perfectly stiff and still.There was a pause.
`I've nothing against your marrying Ursula,' Brangwen began at length.
`It's got nothing to do with me, she'll do as she likes, me or no me.'
Birkin turned away, looking out of the window and letting go his consciousness.
After all, what good was this? It was hopeless to keep it up.He would sit on till Ursula came home, then speak to her, then go away.He would not accept trouble at the hands of her father.It was all unnecessary, and he himself need not have provoked it.
The two men sat in complete silence, Birkin almost unconscious of his own whereabouts.He had come to ask her to marry him -- well then, he would wait on, and ask her.As for what she said, whether she accepted or not, he did not think about it.He would say what he had come to say, and that was all he was conscious of.He accepted the complete insignificance of this household, for him.But everything now was as if fated.He could see one thing ahead, and no more.From the rest, he was absolved entirely for the time being.It had to be left to fate and chance to resolve the issues.
At length they heard the gate.They saw her coming up the steps with a bundle of books under her arm.Her face was bright and abstracted as usual, with the abstraction, that look of being not quite there, not quite present to the facts of reality, that galled her father so much.
She had a maddening faculty of assuming a light of her own, which excluded the reality, and within which she looked radiant as if in sunshine.
They heard her go into the dining-room, and drop her armful of books on the table.
`Did you bring me that Girl's Own?' cried Rosalind.
`Yes, I brought it.But I forgot which one it was you wanted.'
`You would,' cried Rosalind angrily.`It's right for a wonder.'
Then they heard her say something in a lowered tone.
`Where?' cried Ursula.
Again her sister's voice was muffled.
Brangwen opened the door, and called, in his strong, brazen voice:
`Ursula.'
She appeared in a moment, wearing her hat.
`Oh how do you do!' she cried, seeing Birkin, and all dazzled as if taken by surprise.He wondered at her, knowing she was aware of his presence.
She had her queer, radiant, breathless manner, as if confused by the actual world, unreal to it, having a complete bright world of her self alone.
`Have I interrupted a conversation?' she asked.
`No, only a complete silence,' said Birkin.
`Oh,' said Ursula, vaguely, absent.Their presence was not vital to her, she was withheld, she did not take them in.It was a subtle insult that never failed to exasperate her father.
`Mr Birkin came to speak to you , not to me,' said her father.
`Oh, did he!' she exclaimed vaguely, as if it did not concern her.Then, recollecting herself, she turned to him rather radiantly, but still quite superficially, and said: `Was it anything special?'
`I hope so,' he said, ironically.
`-- To propose to you, according to all accounts,' said her father.
`Oh,' said Ursula.
`Oh,' mocked her father, imitating her.`Have you nothing more to say?'
She winced as if violated.
`Did you really come to propose to me?' she asked of Birkin, as if it were a joke.
`Yes,' he said.`I suppose I came to propose.' He seemed to fight shy of the last word.