fully, 'But go to bed,
Gerald. God knows what time it is.'

Gerald looked at his watch, and at length rose off the bed, and went to
his room. But he returned in a few minutes, in his shirt.

'One thing,' he said, seating himself on the bed again. 'We finished up
rather stormily, and I never had time to give her anything.'

'Money?' said Birkin. 'She'll get what she wants from Halliday or from
one of her acquaintances.'

'But then,' said Gerald, 'I'd rather give her her dues and settle the
account.'

'She doesn't care.'

'No, perhaps not. But one feels the account is left open, and one would
rather it were closed.'

'Would you?' said Birkin. He was looking at the white legs of Gerald,
as the latter sat on the side of the bed in his shirt. They were
white-skinned, full, muscular legs, handsome and decided. Yet they
moved Birkin with a sort of pathos, tenderness, as if they were
childish.

'I think I'd rather close the account,' said Gerald, repeating himself
vaguely.

'It doesn't matter one way or another,' said Birkin.

'You always say it doesn't matter,' said Gerald, a little puzzled,
looking down at the face of the other man affectionately.

'Neither does it,' said Birkin.

'But she was a decent sort, really--'

'Render unto Caesarina the things that are Caesarina's,' said Birkin,
turning aside. It seemed to him Gerald was talking for the sake of
talking. 'Go away, it wearies me--it's too late at night,' he said.

'I wish you'd tell me something that DID matter,' said Gerald, looking
down all the time at the face of the other man, waiting for something.
But Birkin turned his face aside.

'All right then, go to sleep,' said Gerald, and he laid his hand
affectionately on the other man's shoulder, and went away.

In the morning when Gerald awoke and heard Birkin move, he called out:
'I still think I ought to give the Pussum ten pounds.'

'Oh God!' said Birkin, 'don't be so matter-of-fact. Close the account
in your own soul, if you like. It is there you can't close it.'

'How do you know I can't?'

'Knowing you.'

Gerald meditated for some moments.

'It seems to me the right thing to do, you know, with the Pussums, is
to pay them.'

'And the right thing for mistresses: keep them. And the right thing for
wives: live under the same roof with them. Integer vitae scelerisque
purus--' said Birkin.

'There's no need to be nasty about it,' said Gerald.

'It bores me. I'm not interested in your pec