“Have I interrupted a conversation?” she asked.
“No, only a complete silence,” said Birkin.
“Oh,” said Ursula, vaguely, absent. Their presence was not vital to her, she was withheld, she did not take them in. It was a subtle insult that never failed to exasperate her father.
“Mr Birkin came to speak to you, not to me,” said her father.
“Oh, did he!” she exclaimed vaguely, as if it did not concern her. Then, recollecting herself, she turned to him rather radiantly, but still quite superficially, and said: “Was it anything special?”
“I hope so,” he said, ironically.
“—To propose to you, according to all accounts,” said her father.
“Oh,” said Ursula.
“Oh,” mocked her father, imitating her. “Have you nothing more to say?”
She winced as if violated.