And so Connie had come upon her in the drive, alone and palely loitering.

“You mustn’t mind me coming to look for you, my Lady! But Sir Clifford worked himself up into such a state. He made sure you were struck by lightning, or killed by a falling tree. And he was determined to send Field and Betts to the wood to find the body. So I thought I’d better come, rather than set all the servants agog.”

She spoke nervously. She could still see on Connie’s face the smoothness and the half-dream of passion, and she could feel the irritation against herself.

“Quite!” said Connie. And she could say no more.

The two women plodded on through the wet world, in silence, while great drops splashed like explosions in the wood. When they came to the park, Connie strode ahead, and Mrs. Bolton panted a little. She was getting plumper.