The grandmother looked round swiftly at the child:

“Why, wheer was yer Dad?”

The little girl clung to her grandmother’s skirts and simpered.

“He was there,” said Connie, “but he’d shot a poaching cat, and the child was upset.”

“Oh, you’d no right t’ave bothered, Lady Chatterley, I’m sure! I’m sure it was very good of you, but you shouldn’t ’ave bothered. Why, did ever you see!”⁠—and the old woman turned to the child: “Fancy Lady Chatterley takin’ all that trouble over yer! Why, she shouldn’t ’ave bothered!”

“It was no bother, just a walk,” said Connie smiling.