She was NOT Mrs Crich!
So-o-, that explained a great deal.
'Soll ich Fraulein sagen?' he asked, malevolently.
'I am not married,' she said, with some hauteur.
Her heart was fluttering now, beating like a bewildered bird.
She knew she had dealt a cruel wound, and she could not bear it.
Gerald sat erect, perfectly still, his face pale and calm, like the face of a statue.
He was unaware of her, or of Loerke or anybody.
He sat perfectly still, in an unalterable calm.
Loerke, meanwhile, was crouching and glancing up from under his ducked head.
Gudrun was tortured for something to say, to relieve the suspense.
She twisted her face in a smile, and glanced knowingly, almost sneering, at Gerald.
'Truth is best,' she said to him, with a grimace.
But now again she was under his domination; now, because she had dealt him this blow; because she had destroyed him, and she did not know how he had taken it.
She watched him. He was interesting to her.
She had lost her interest in Loerke.
Gerald rose at length, and went over in a leisurely still movement, to the Professor.
The two began a conversation on Goethe.
She was rather piqued by the simplicity of Gerald's demeanour this evening.
He did not seem angry or disgusted, only he looked curiously innocent and pure, really beautiful.
Sometimes it came upon him, this look of clear distance, and it always fascinated her.
She waited, troubled, throughout the evening.
She thought he would avoid her, or give some sign.
But he spoke to her simply and unemotionally, as he would to anyone else in the room.
A certain peace, an abstraction possessed his soul.
She went to his room, hotly, violently in love with him.
He was so beautiful and inaccessible.
He kissed her, he was a lover to her.
And she had extreme pleasure of him.
But he did not come to, he remained remote and candid, unconscious.
She wanted to speak to him.
But this innocent, beautiful state of unconsciousness that had come upon him prevented her.
She felt tormented and dark.
In the morning, however, he looked at her with a little aversion, some horror and some hatred darkening into his eyes.
She withdrew on to her old ground.
But still he would not gather himself together, against her.
Loerke was waiting for her now.
The little artist, isolated in his own complete envelope, felt that here at last was a woman from whom he could get something.
He was uneasy all the while, waiting to talk with her, subtly contriving to be near her.
Her presence filled him with keenness and excitement, he gravitated cunningly towards her, as if she had some unseen force of attraction.
He was not in the least doubtful of himself, as regards Gerald.
Gerald was one of the outsiders.
Loerke only hated him for being rich and proud and of fine appearance.
All these things, however, riches, pride of social standing, handsome physique, were externals.
When it came to the relation with a woman such as Gudrun, he, Loerke, had an approach and a power that Gerald never dreamed of.
How should Gerald hope to satisfy a woman of Gudrun's calibre?
Did he think that pride or masterful will or physical strength would help him?
Loerke knew a secret beyond these things.
The greatest power is the one that is subtle and adjusts itself, not one which blindly attacks.
And he, Loerke, had understanding where Gerald was a calf.