He sank in his chair with a groan.
'You'd better go home,' she said to him.
'I WILL go home,' he said. 'But won't you all come along.
Won't you come round to the flat?' he said to Gerald. 'I should be so glad if you would.
Do—that'll be splendid.
I say?'
He looked round for a waiter.
'Get me a taxi.' Then he groaned again. 'Oh I do feel—perfectly ghastly!
Pussum, you see what you do to me.'
'Then why are you such an idiot?' she said with sullen calm.
'But I'm not an idiot!
Oh, how awful!
Do come, everybody, it will be so splendid.
Pussum, you are coming.
What?
Oh but you MUST come, yes, you must.
What?
Oh, my dear girl, don't make a fuss now, I feel perfectly—Oh, it's so ghastly—Ho!—er!
Oh!'
'You know you can't drink,' she said to him, coldly.
'I tell you it isn't drink—it's your disgusting behaviour, Pussum, it's nothing else.
Oh, how awful!
Libidnikov, do let us go.'
'He's only drunk one glass—only one glass,' came the rapid, hushed voice of the young Russian.
They all moved off to the door.
The girl kept near to Gerald, and seemed to be at one in her motion with him.
He was aware of this, and filled with demon-satisfaction that his motion held good for two.
He held her in the hollow of his will, and she was soft, secret, invisible in her stirring there.
They crowded five of them into the taxi-cab.
Halliday lurched in first, and dropped into his seat against the other window.
Then the Pussum took her place, and Gerald sat next to her.
They heard the young Russian giving orders to the driver, then they were all seated in the dark, crowded close together, Halliday groaning and leaning out of the window.
They felt the swift, muffled motion of the car.
The Pussum sat near to Gerald, and she seemed to become soft, subtly to infuse herself into his bones, as if she were passing into him in a black, electric flow.
Her being suffused into his veins like a magnetic darkness, and concentrated at the base of his spine like a fearful source of power.
Meanwhile her voice sounded out reedy and nonchalant, as she talked indifferently with Birkin and with Maxim.
Between her and Gerald was this silence and this black, electric comprehension in the darkness.
Then she found his hand, and grasped it in her own firm, small clasp.
It was so utterly dark, and yet such a naked statement, that rapid vibrations ran through his blood and over his brain, he was no longer responsible.
Still her voice rang on like a bell, tinged with a tone of mockery.
And as she swung her head, her fine mane of hair just swept his face, and all his nerves were on fire, as with a subtle friction of electricity.
But the great centre of his force held steady, a magnificent pride to him, at the base of his spine.
They arrived at a large block of buildings, went up in a lift, and presently a door was being opened for them by a Hindu.
Gerald looked in surprise, wondering if he were a gentleman, one of the Hindus down from Oxford, perhaps.
But no, he was the man-servant.
'Make tea, Hasan,' said Halliday.
'There is a room for me?' said Birkin.
To both of which questions the man grinned, and murmured.
He made Gerald uncertain, because, being tall and slender and reticent, he looked like a gentleman.
'Who is your servant?' he asked of Halliday. 'He looks a swell.'