only aristocrat, is the public, the public.
You are quite willing to serve the public--but to be a private tutor--'

'I don't want to serve either--'

'No! And Gudrun will probably feel the same.'

Gerald thought for a few minutes. Then he said:

'At all events, father won't make her feel like a private servant. He
will be fussy and greatful enough.'

'So he ought. And so ought all of you. Do you think you can hire a
woman like Gudrun Brangwen with money? She is your equal like
anything--probably your superior.'

'Is she?' said Gerald.

'Yes, and if you haven't the guts to know it, I hope she'll leave you
to your own devices.'

'Nevertheless,' said Gerald, 'if she is my equal, I wish she weren't a
teacher, because I don't think teachers as a rule are my equal.'

'Nor do I, damn them. But am I a teacher because I teach, or a parson
because I preach?'

Gerald laughed. He was always uneasy on this score. He did not WANT to
claim social superiority, yet he WOULD not claim intrinsic personal
superiority, because he would never base his standard of values on pure
being. So he wobbled upon a tacit assumption of social standing. No,
Birkin wanted him to accept the fact of intrinsic difference between
human beings, which he did not intend to accept. It was against his
social honour, his principle. He rose to go.

'I've been neglecting my business all this while,' he said smiling.

'I ought to have reminded you before,' Birkin replied, laughing and
mocking.

'I knew you'd say something like that,' laughed Gerald, rather
uneasily.

'Did you?'

'Yes, Rupert. It wouldn't do for us all to be like you are--we should
soon be in the cart. When I am above the world, I shall ignore all
businesses.'

'Of course, we're not in the cart now,' said Birkin, satirically.

'Not as much as you make out. At any rate, we have enough to eat and
drink--'

'And be satisfied,' added Birkin.

Gerald came near the bed and stood looking down at Birkin whose throat
was exposed, whose tossed hair fell attractively on the warm brow,
above the eyes that were so unchallenged and still in the satirical
face. Gerald, full-limbed and turgid with energy, stood unwilling to
go, he was held by the presence of the other man. He had not the power
to go away.

'So,' said Birkin. 'Good-bye.' And he reached out his hand from under
the bed-clothes, smiling with a glimmering look.

'Good-bye,' said Gerald, taking the warm hand of his friend in a