They waited, uneasy, suspended, rather bored.

But Gerald remained as if genial and happy, unaware that he was waiting 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 was talking 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 her guests.

She held out her hand to him.
'Oh Mrs Crich,' replied Birkin, in his readily-changing voice, 'I couldn't come to you before.' 'I don't know half the people here,' she said, in her low voice.