'What are they?--painters, musicians?'

'Painters, musicians, writers--hangers-on, models, advanced young
people, anybody who is openly at outs with the conventions, and belongs
to nowhere particularly. They are often young fellows down from the
University, and girls who are living their own lives, as they say.'

'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
tonight?'