“It’s very fine!” cried Ursula, perhaps with a touch of satire.
“Go up—or come down,” said Birkin. For there the sisters stood, Gudrun with her hand on Ursula’s arm, on the turn of the stairs half way to the first landing, blocking the way and affording full entertainment to the whole of the hall below, from the door porter to the plump Jew in black clothes.
The two young women slowly mounted, followed by Birkin and the waiter.
“First floor?” asked Gudrun, looking back over her shoulder.
“Second Madam—the lift!” the waiter replied. And he darted to the elevator to forestall the two women. But they ignored him, as, chattering without heed, they set to mount the second flight. Rather chagrined, the waiter followed.
It was curious, the delight of the sisters in each other, at this meeting. It was as if they met in exile, and united their solitary forces against all the world. Birkin looked on with some mistrust and wonder.
When they had bathed and changed, Gerald came in. He looked shining like the sun on frost.
“Go with Gerald and smoke,” said Ursula to Birkin. “Gudrun and I want to talk.”
Then the sisters sat in Gudrun’s bedroom, and talked clothes, and experiences. Gudrun told Ursula the experience of the Birkin letter in the café. Ursula was shocked and frightened.
“Where is the letter?” she asked.