Page 67 - lady-chatterlys-lover

also in mockery, because there had been no trace of dialect
before. He might almost be a gentleman. Anyhow, he was a
curious, quick, separate fellow, alone, but sure of himself.
Clifford started the little engine, the man carefully
turned the chair, and set it nose-forwards to the incline that
curved gently to the dark hazel thicket.
’Is that all then, Sir Clifford?’ asked the man.
’No, you’d better come along in case she sticks. The en-
gine isn’t really strong enough for the uphill work.’ The man
glanced round for his dog...a thoughtful glance. The span-
iel looked at him and faintly moved its tail. A little smile,
mocking or teasing her, yet gentle, came into his eyes for a
moment, then faded away, and his face was expressionless.
They went fairly quickly down the slope, the man with his
hand on the rail of the chair, steadying it. He looked like
a free soldier rather than a servant. And something about
him reminded Connie of Tommy Dukes.
When they came to the hazel grove, Connie sudden-
ly ran forward, and opened the gate into the park. As she
stood holding it, the two men looked at her in passing, Clif-
ford critically, the other man with a curious, cool wonder;
impersonally wanting to see what she looked like. And she
saw in his blue, impersonal eyes a look of suffering and de-
tachment, yet a certain warmth. But why was he so aloof,
apart?
Clifford stopped the chair, once through the gate, and
the man came quickly, courteously, to close it.
’Why did you run to open?’ asked Clifford in his quiet,
calm voice, that showed he was displeased. ‘Mellors would

Lady Chatterly’s Lover