Page 238 - lady-chatterlys-lover

’Did I interrupt you, Clifford? I’m sorry.’
’No, it’s nothing of any importance.’
She slipped out of the room again, and up to the blue
boudoir on the first floor. She sat in the window, and saw
him go down the drive, with his curious, silent motion, ef-
faced. He had a natural sort of quiet distinction, an aloof
pride, and also a certain look of frailty. A hireling! One of
Clifford’s hirelings! ‘The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our
stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.’
Was he an underling? Was he? What did he think of
HER?
It was a sunny day, and Connie was working in the gar-
den, and Mrs Bolton was helping her. For some reason, the
two women had drawn together, in one of the unaccount-
able flows and ebbs of sympathy that exist between people.
They were pegging down carnations, and putting in small
plants for the summer. It was work they both liked. Connie
especially felt a delight in putting the soft roots of young
plants into a soft black puddle, and cradling them down.
On this spring morning she felt a quiver in her womb too, as
if the sunshine had touched it and made it happy.
’It is many years since you lost your husband?’ she said
to Mrs Bolton as she took up another little plant and laid it
in its hole.
’Twenty-three!’ said Mrs Bolton, as she carefully separat-
ed the young columbines into single plants. ‘Twenty-three
years since they brought him home.’
Connie’s heart gave a lurch, at the terrible finality of it.
‘Brought him home!’