62 WOMEN IN LOVE "All loose?" said Gerald. Birkin could see his curiosity roused. "In one way. Most bound, in another. For all their shockingness, all on one note." He looked at Gerald, and saw how his blue eyes were lit up with a little flame of curious desire. He saw too, how good-looking he was. Gerald was attractive, his blood seemed fluid and electric. His blue eyes burned with a keen, yet cold light, there was a certain beauty, a beautiful passivity in all his body, his moulding. "We might see something of each other — I am in London for two or three days," said Gerald. "Yes," said Birkin. "I don't want to go to the theatre, or the music hall — you'd better come round to the flat, and see what you can make of Halliday and his crowd." "Thanks — I should like to," laughed Gerald. "What are you doing to-night?" "I promised to meet Halliday at the Pompadour. It's a bad place, but there is nowhere else." "Where is it?" asked Gerald. "Piccadilly Circus." "Oh yes — well, shall I come round there?" "By all means, it might amuse you." The evening was falling. They had passed Bedford. Bir- kin watched the country, and was filled with a sort of hope- lessness. He always felt this, on approaching London. His dislike of mankind, of the mass of mankind, amounted almost to an illness. " 'Where the quiet coloured end of evening smiles Miles and miles — ' " he was murmuring to himself, like a man condemned to death. Gerald, who was very subtly alert, wary in all his senses, leaned forward and asked smilingly: "What were you saying?" Birkin glanced at him, laughed, and repeated: " 'Where the quiet coloured end of evening smiles, Miles and miles, Over pastures where the something something sheep Half asleep — ' "
