ebensky. "The woman had been a
servant, I'm sure of that."

Ursula winced.

"But I loved his impudence--it was so gentle
underneath."

She went hastening on, gladdened by having met the grimy,
lean man with the ragged moustache. He gave her a pleasant warm
feeling. He made her feel the richness of her own life.
Skrebensky, somehow, had created a deadness round her, a
sterility, as if the world were ashes.

They said very little as they hastened home to the big
supper. He was envying the lean father of three children, for
his impudent directness and his worship of the woman in Ursula,
a worship of body and soul together, the man's body and soul
wistful and worshipping the body and spirit of the girl, with a
desire that knew the inaccessibility of its object, but was only
glad to know that the perfect thing existed, glad to have had a
moment of communion.

Why could not he himself desire a woman so? Why did he never
really want a woman, not with the whole of him: never loved,
never worshipped, only just physically wanted her.

But he would want her with his body, let his soul do as it
would. A kind of flame of physical desire was gradually beating
up in the Marsh, kindled by Tom Brangwen, and by the fact of the
wedding of Fred, the shy, fair, stiff-set farmer with the
handsome, half-educated girl. Tom Brangwen, with all his secret
power, seemed to fan the flame that was rising. The bride was
strongly attracted by him, and he was exerting his influence on
another beautiful, fair girl, chill and burning as the sea, who
said witty things which he appreciated, making her glint with
more, like phosphorescence. And her greenish eyes seemed to rock
a secret, and her hands like mother-of-pearl seemed luminous,
transparent, as if the secret were burning visible in them.

At the end of supper, during dessert, the music began to
play, violins, and flutes. Everybody's face was lit up. A glow
of excitement prevailed. When the little speeches were over, and
the port remained unreached for any more, those who wished were
invited out to the open for coffee. The night was warm.

Bright stars were shining, the moon was not yet up. And under
the stars burned two great, red, flameless fires, and round
these lights and lanterns hung, the marquee stood open before a
fire, with its lights inside.

The young people flocked out into the mysterious night. There
was sound of laughter and voices, and a scent of coffee. The
farm-build