Page 177 - lady-chatterlys-lover

Linley stayed to dinner, and Connie was the hostess men
liked so much, so modest, yet so attentive and aware, with
big, wide blue eyes arid a soft repose that sufficiently hid
what she was really thinking. Connie had played this wom-
an so much, it was almost second nature to her; but still,
decidedly second. Yet it was curious how everything disap-
peared from her consciousness while she played it.
She waited patiently till she could go upstairs and think
her own thoughts. She was always waiting, it seemed to be
her FORTE.
Once in her room, however, she felt still vague and con-
fused. She didn’t know what to think. What sort of a man
was he, really? Did he really like her? Not much, she felt.
Yet he was kind. There was something, a sort of warm na-
ive kindness, curious and sudden, that almost opened her
womb to him. But she felt he might be kind like that to any
woman. Though even so, it was curiously soothing, com-
forting. And he was a passionate man, wholesome and
passionate. But perhaps he wasn’t quite individual enough;
he might be the same with any woman as he had been with
her. It really wasn’t personal. She was only really a female
to him.
But perhaps that was better. And after all, he was kind to
the female in her, which no man had ever been. Men were
very kind to the PERSONshe was, but rather cruel to the
female, despising her or ignoring her altogether. Men were
awfully kind to Constance Reid or to Lady Chatterley; but
not to her womb they weren’t kind. And he took no notice
of Constance or of Lady Chatterley; he just softly stroked

1 Lady Chatterly’s Lover