Page 212 - lady-chatterlys-lover

that it was daybreak. For when he was sure of daybreak, he
would sleep almost at once.
She stood blind with sleep at the window, waiting. And
as she stood, she started, and almost cried out. For there
was a man out there on the drive, a black figure in the twi-
light. She woke up greyly, and watched, but without making
a sound to disturb Sir Clifford.
The daylight began to rustle into the world, and the dark
figure seemed to go smaller and more defined. She made
out the gun and gaiters and baggy jacket—it would be Oli-
ver Mellors, the keeper. ‘Yes, for there was the dog nosing
around like a shadow, and waiting for him’!
And what did the man want? Did he want to rouse the
house? What was he standing there for, transfixed, looking
up at the house like a love-sick male dog outside the house
where the bitch is?
Goodness! The knowledge went through Mrs Bolton like
a shot. He was Lady Chatterley’s lover! He! He!
To think of it! Why, she, Ivy Bolton, had once been a tiny
bit in love with him herself. When he was a lad of sixteen
and she a woman of twenty-six. It was when she was study-
ing, and he had helped her a lot with the anatomy and things
she had had to learn. He’d been a clever boy, had a scholar-
ship for Sheffield Grammar School, and learned French and
things: and then after all had become an overhead black-
smith shoeing horses, because he was fond of horses, he
said: but really because he was frightened to go out and face
the world, only he’d never admit it.
But he’d been a nice lad, a nice lad, had helped her a lot,

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