Aaron's Rod. Дэвид Герберт Лоуренс

like you awfully, I say," he repeated.

      "Thanks, I'm sure," she said.

      The others were laughing, sprawling in their chairs, and sipping curaçao and taking a sandwich or a cigarette. Aaron Sisson alone sat upright, smiling flickeringly. Josephine watched him, and her pointed tongue went from time to time over her lips.

      "But I'm sure," she broke in, "this isn't very interesting for the others. Awfully boring! Don't be silly all the time, Jim, or we must go home."

      Jim looked at her with narrowed eyes. He hated her voice. She let her eye rest on his for a moment. Then she put her cigarette to her lips. Robert was watching them both.

      ​Josephine took her cigarette from her lips again.

      "Tell us about yourself, Mr. Sisson," she said. "How do you like being in London?"

      "I like London," said Aaron.

      Where did he live? Bloomsbury. Did he know many people? No—nobody except a man in the orchestra. How had he got his job? Through an agent. Etc. Etc.

      "What do you make of the miners?" said Jim, suddenly taking a new line.

      "Me?" said Sisson. "I don't make anything of them."

      "Do you think they'll make a stand against the government?"

      "What for?"

      "Nationalisation."

      "They might, one day."

      "Think they'd fight?"

      "Fight?"

      "Yes."

      Aaron sat laughing.

      "What have they to fight for?"

      "Why, everything! What haven't they to fight for?" cried Josephine fiercely. "Freedom, liberty, and escape from this vile system. Won't they fight for that?"

      Aaron sat smiling, slowly shaking his head.

      "Nay," he said, "you mustn't ask me what they'll do—I've only just left them, for good. They'll do a lot of cavilling."

      "But won't they act?" cried Josephine.

      "Act?" said Aaron. "How, act?"

      "Why, defy the government, and take things in their own hands," said Josephine.

      "They might, some time," said Aaron, rather indifferent.

      "I wish they would!" cried Josephine. "My, wouldn't I love it if they'd make a bloody revolution!"

      They were all looking now at her. Her black brows were twitching, in her black and silver dress she looked like a symbol of young disaster.

      "Must it be bloody, Josephine?" said Robert.

      ​"Why, yes. I don't believe in revolutions that aren't bloody," said Josephine. "Wouldn't I love it! I'd go in front with a red flag."

      "It would be rather fun," said Tanny.

      "Wouldn't it!" cried Josephine.

      "Oh, Josey, dear!" cried Julia hysterically. "Isn't she a red-hot Bolsher! I should be frightened."

      "No!" cried Josephine. "I should love it."

      "So should I," said Jim, in a luscious sort of voice. "What price machine-guns at the end of the Strand! That's a day to live for, what?"

      "Ha! Ha!" laughed Clariss, with her deep laugh. "We'd all Bolsh together. I'd give the cheers."

      "I wouldn't mind getting killed. I'd love it, in a real fight," said Josephine.

      "But, Josephine," said Robert, "don't you think we've had enough of that sort of thing in the war? Don't you think it all works out rather stupid and unsatisfying?"

      "Ah, but a civil war would be different. I've no interest in fighting Germans. But a civil war would be different."

      "That's a fact, it would," said Jim.

      "Only rather worse," said Robert.

      "No, I don't agree," cried Josephine. "You'd feel you were doing something, in a civil war."

      "Pulling the house down," said Lilly.

      "Yes," she cried. "Don't you hate it, the house we live in—London—England—America! Don't you hate them?"

      "I don't like them. But I can't get much fire in my hatred. They pall on me rather," said Lilly.

      "Ay!" said Aaron, suddenly stirring in his chair.

      Lilly and he glanced at one another with a look of recognition.

      "Still," said Tanny, "there's got to be a clearance some day or other."

      "Oh," drawled Clariss. "I'm all for a clearance. I'm all for pulling the house down. Only while it stands I do want central heating and a good cook."

      "May I come to dinner?" said Jim.

      ​"Oh, yes. You'd find it rather domestic."

      "Where do you live?"

      "Rather far out now—Amersham."

      "Amersham? Where's that—?"

      "Oh, it's on the map."

      There was a little lull. Jim gulped down a drink, standing at the sideboard. He was a tall, fine, soldierly figure, and his face, with its little sandy moustache and bald forehead, was odd. Aaron Sisson sat watching him, unconsciously.

      "Hello you!" said Jim. "Have one?"

      Aaron shook his head, and Jim did not press him. It saved the drinks.

      "You believe in love, don't you?" said Jim, sitting down near Aaron, and grinning at him.

      "Love!" said Aaron.

      "Love! he says," mocked Jim, grinning at the company.

      "What about it, then?" asked Aaron.

      "It's life! Love is life," said Jim fiercely.

      "It's a vice, like drink," said Lilly.

      "Eh? A vice!" said Jim. "May be for you, old bird."

      "More so still for you," said Lilly.

      "It's life. It's life!" reiterated Jim. "Don't you agree?" He turned wolfishly to Clariss.

      "Oh, yes—every time—" she drawled, nonchalant.

      "Here, let's write it down," said Lilly. He found a blue pencil and printed in large letters on the old creamy marble of the mantel-piece panel:—LOVE IS LIFE.

      Julia suddenly rose and flung her arms asunder wildly.

      "Oh, I hate love. I hate it," she protested.

      Jim watched her sardonically.

      "Look at her!" he said. "Look at Lesbia who hates love."

      "No, but perhaps it is a disease. Perhaps we are all wrong, and we can't love properly," put in Josephine.

      "Have another try," said Jim—"I know what love is. I've thought about it. Love is the soul's respiration."

      "Let's have that down," said Lilly.

      Love is the soul's respiration. He printed it on the old mantel-piece.

      ​Jim eyed the letters.

      "It's right," he said. "Quite right. When you love, your soul breathes in. If you don't breathe in, you suffocate."

      "What about breathing out?" said Robert. "If you don't breathe out, you asphyxiate."

      "Right you are. Mock Turtle—" said Jim maliciously.

      "Breathing out is a bloody revolution," said Lilly.

      "You've