“Thanks so much, Mellors,” said Clifford, when they were at the house door. “I must get a different sort of motor, that’s all. Won’t you go to the kitchen and have a meal? It must be about time.”

“Thank you, Sir Clifford. I was going to my mother for dinner today, Sunday.”

“As you like.”

Mellors slung into his coat, looked at Connie, saluted, and was gone. Connie, furious, went upstairs.

At lunch she could not contain her feeling.

“Why are you so abominably inconsiderate, Clifford?” she said to him.

“Of whom?”

“Of the keeper! If that is what you call the ruling classes, I’m sorry for you.”

“Why?”