“She will want to drive her own car, and take you with her,” he said.
“Probably!—I must help up here. You’ve no idea how heavy this chair is.”
She went to the back of the chair, and plodded side by side with the keeper, shoving up the pink path. She did not care who saw.
“Why not let me wait, and fetch Field. He is strong enough for the job,” said Clifford.
“It’s so near,” she panted.
But both she and Mellors wiped the sweat from their faces when they came to the top. It was curious, but this bit of work together had brought them much closer than they had been before.
“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.”