She backed on to the bridge, reversed, let the car run forwards a few yards along the road, then backed into the lane, under a wych-elm tree, crushing the grass and bracken. Then all the lights went out. Connie stepped down. The man stood under the trees.

“Did you wait long?” Connie asked.

“Not so very,” he replied.

They both waited for Hilda to get out. But Hilda shut the door of the car and sat tight.

“This is my sister Hilda. Won’t you come and speak to her? Hilda! This is Mr. Mellors.”

The keeper lifted his hat, but went no nearer.

“Do walk down to the cottage with us, Hilda,” Connie pleaded. “It’s not far.”

“What about the car?”