g humour of the other
man. But he was cogitating too.

'We haven't got there yet,' he replied. 'A good many people are still
waiting for the rabbit and the fire to cook it.'

'So while you get the coal I must chase the rabbit?' said Birkin,
mocking at Gerald.

'Something like that,' said Gerald.

Birkin watched him narrowly. He saw the perfect good-humoured
callousness, even strange, glistening malice, in Gerald, glistening
through the plausible ethics of productivity.

'Gerald,' he said, 'I rather hate you.'

'I know you do,' said Gerald. 'Why do you?'

Birkin mused inscrutably for some minutes.

'I should like to know if you are conscious of hating me,' he said at
last. 'Do you ever consciously detest me--hate me with mystic hate?
There are odd moments when I hate you starrily.'

Gerald was rather taken aback, even a little disconcerted. He did not
quite know what to say.

'I may, of course, hate you sometimes,' he said. 'But I'm not aware of
it--never acutely aware of it, that is.'

'So much the worse,' said Birkin.

Gerald watched him with curious eyes. He could not quite make him out.

'So much the worse, is it?' he repeated.

There was a silence between the two men for some time, as the train ran
on. In Birkin's face was a little irritable tension, a sharp knitting
of the brows, keen and difficult. Gerald watched him warily, carefully,
rather calculatingly, for he could not decide what he was after.

Suddenly Birkin's eyes looked straight and overpowering into those of
the other man.

'What do you think is the aim and object of your life, Gerald?' he
asked.

Again Gerald was taken aback. He could not think what his friend was
getting at. Was he poking fun, or not?

'At this moment, I couldn't say off-hand,' he replied, with faintly
ironic humour.

'Do you think love is the be-all and the end-all of life?' Birkin
asked, with direct, attentive seriousness.

'Of my own life?' said Gerald.

'Yes.'

There was a really puzzled pause.

'I can't say,' said Gerald. 'It hasn't been, so far.'

'What has your life been, so far?'

'Oh--finding out things for myself--and getting experiences--and making
things GO.'

Birkin knitted his brows like sharply moulded steel.

'I find,' he said, 'that one needs some one REALLY pure single
activity--I should call love a single pure activity. But I DON'T really
love anybody--not now.'

'Have you ever really loved anybody?' asked Gerald.

'Yes and n