“I did. That’s the trouble. There aren’t many of them about,” she said.

“No, by God!” he mused. “There aren’t! Well my dear, to look at you, he was a lucky man. Surely he wouldn’t make trouble for you?”

“Oh, no! He leaves me my own mistress entirely.”

“Quite! Quite! A genuine man would.”

Sir Malcolm was pleased. Connie was his favourite daughter, he had always liked the female in her. Not so much of her mother in her as in Hilda. And he had always disliked Clifford. So he was pleased, and very tender with his daughter, as if the unborn child were his child.

He drove with her to Hartland’s hotel, and saw her installed: then went round to his club. She had refused his company for the evening.

She found a letter from Mellors. “I won’t come round to your hotel, but I’ll wait for you outside the Golden Cock in Adam Street at seven.”