Gudrun knew that it was a critical thing for her to go to Shortlands. She knew it was equivalent to accepting Gerald Crich as a lover. And though she hung back, disliking the condition, yet she knew she would go on. She equivocated. She said to herself, in torment recalling the blow and the kiss, “after all, what is it? What is a kiss? What even is a blow? It is an instant, vanished at once. I can go to Shortlands just for a time, before I go away, if only to see what it is like.” For she had an insatiable curiosity to see and to know everything.
She also wanted to know what Winifred was really like. Having heard the child calling from the steamer in the night, she felt some mysterious connection with her.
Gudrun talked with the father in the library. Then he sent for his daughter. She came accompanied by Mademoiselle.
“Winnie, this is Miss Brangwen, who will be so kind as to help you with your drawing and making models of your animals,” said the father.
The child looked at Gudrun for a moment with interest, before she came forward and with face averted offered her hand. There was a complete sang-froid and indifference under Winifred’s childish reserve, a certain irresponsible callousness.
“How do you do?” said the child, not lifting her face.
“How do you do?” said Gudrun.
Then Winifred stood aside, and Gudrun was introduced to Mademoiselle.
“You have a fine day for your walk,” said Mademoiselle, in a bright manner.
“Quite fine,” said Gudrun.