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in it. Well, he was a little mad. Connie thought so. His very
intensity and acumen in the affairs of the pits seemed like a
manifestation of madness to her, his very inspirations were
the inspirations of insanity.
He talked to her of all his serious schemes, and she lis-
tened in a kind of wonder, and let him talk. Then the flow
ceased, and he turned on the loudspeaker, and became a
blank, while apparently his schemes coiled on inside him
like a kind of dream.
And every night now he played pontoon, that game of
the Tommies, with Mrs Bolton, gambling with sixpenc-
es. And again, in the gambling he was gone in a kind of
unconsciousness, or blank intoxication, or intoxication of
blankness, whatever it was. Connie could not bear to see
him. But when she had gone to bed, he and Mrs Bolton
would gamble on till two and three in the morning, safely,
and with strange lust. Mrs Bolton was caught in the lust as
much as Clifford: the more so, as she nearly always lost.
She told Connie one day: ‘I lost twenty-three shillings to
Sir Clifford last night.’
’And did he take the money from you?’ asked Connie
aghast.
’Why of course, my Lady! Debt of honour!’
Connie expostulated roundly, and was angry with both
of them. The upshot was, Sir Clifford raised Mrs Bolton’s
wages a hundred a year, and she could gamble on that.
Meanwhile, it seemed to Connie, Clifford was really going
deader.
She told him at length she was leaving on the seven-

1 Lady Chatterly’s Lover