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They’re the best that money could buy. Oh, I call it lovely!’
’Do you?’ said Connie. ‘Then you have it.’
’Oh no, my Lady!’
’Of course! It will only lie here till Doomsday. If you won’t
have it, I’ll send it to the Duchess as well as the pictures, and
she doesn’t deserve so much. Do have it!’
’Oh, your Ladyship! Why, I shall never be able to thank
you.’
’You needn’t try,’ laughed Connie.
And Mrs Bolton sailed down with the huge and very
black box in her arms, flushing bright pink in her excite-
ment.
Mr Betts drove her in the trap to her house in the village,
with the box. And she HAD to have a few friends in, to show
it: the school-mistress, the chemist’s wife, Mrs Weedon the
undercashier’s wife. They thought it marvellous. And then
started the whisper of Lady Chatterley’s child.
’Wonders’ll never cease!’ said Mrs Weedon.
But Mrs Bolton was CONVINCED, if it did come, it
would be Sir Clifford’s child. So there!
Not long after, the rector said gently to Clifford:
’And may we really hope for an heir to Wragby? Ah, that
would be the hand of God in mercy, indeed!’
’Well! We may HOPE,’ said Clifford, with a faint irony,
and at the same time, a certain conviction. He had begun to
believe it really possible it might even be HIS child.
Then one afternoon came Leslie Winter, Squire Winter,
as everybody called him: lean, immaculate, and seventy:
and every inch a gentleman, as Mrs Bolton said to Mrs Bet-

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