“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.