Publisher's Synopsis
The Brangwens went home to Beldover, the wedding-party gathered at Shortlands, theCriches' home. It was a long, low old house, a sort of manor farm, that spread along the top of aslope just beyond the narrow little lake of Willey Water. Shortlands looked across a slopingmeadow that might be a park, because of the large, solitary trees that stood here and there, acrossthe water of the narrow lake, at the wooded hill that successfully hid the colliery valley beyond, but did not quite hide the rising smoke. Nevertheless, the scene was rural and picturesque, verypeaceful, and the house had a charm of its own.It was crowded now with the family and the wedding guests. The father, who was not well, withdrew to rest. Gerald was host. He stood in the homely entrance hall, friendly and easy, attending to the men. He seemed to take pleasure in his social functions, he smiled, and wasabundant in hospitality.The women wandered about in a little confusion, chased hither and thither by the threemarried daughters of the house. All the while there could be heard the characteristic, imperiousvoice of one Crich woman or another calling "Helen, come here a minute," "Marjory, I wantyou-here." "Oh, I say, Mrs Witham-." There was a great rustling of skirts, swift glimpses ofsmartly-dressed women, a child danced through the hall and back again, a maidservant came andwent hurriedly.Meanwhile the men stood in calm little groups, chatting, smoking, pretending to pay no heedto the rustling animation of the women's world. But they could not really talk, because of theglassy ravel of women's excited, cold laughter and running voices. They waited, uneasy, suspended, rather bored. But Gerald remained as if genial and happy, unaware that he waswaiting or unoccupied, knowing himself the very pivot of the occasion.Suddenly Mrs Crich came noiselessly into the room, peering about with her strong, clear face.She was still wearing her hat, and her sac coat of blue silk."What is it, mother?" said Gerald."Nothing, nothing!" she answered vaguely. And she went straight towards Birkin, who wastalking to a Crich brother-in-law."How do you do, Mr Birkin," she said, in her low voice, that seemed to take no count of herguests. She held out her hand to him."Oh Mrs Crich," replied Birkin, in his readily-changing voice, "I couldn't come to youbefore.""I don't know half the people here," she said, in her low voice. Her son-in-law moveduneasily away."And you don't like strangers?" laughed Birkin. "I myself can never see why one should takeaccount of people, just because they happen to be in the room with one: why should I know theyare there?""Why indeed, why indeed!" said Mrs Crich, in her low, tense voice. "Except that they arethere. I don't know people whom I find in the house. The children introduce them to me-'Mother, this is Mr So-and-so.' I am no further. What has Mr So-and-so to do with his ownname?-and what have I to do with either him or his name?"
