“Why did you run to open?” asked Clifford in his quiet, calm voice, that showed he was displeased. “Mellors would have done it.”

“I thought you would go straight ahead,” said Connie.

“And leave you to run after us?” said Clifford.

“Oh, well, I like to run sometimes!”

Mellors took the chair again, looking perfectly unheeding, yet Connie felt he noted everything. As he pushed the chair up the steepish rise of the knoll in the park, he breathed rather quickly, through parted lips. He was rather frail really. Curiously full of vitality, but a little frail and quenched. Her woman’s instinct sensed it.

Connie fell back, let the chair go on. The day had greyed over: the small blue sky that had poised low on its circular rims of haze was closed in again, the lid was down, there was a raw coldness. It was going to snow. All grey, all grey! the world looked worn-out.