“I must say goodbye to you, Mrs. Bolton, you know why. But I can trust you not to talk.”
“Oh, you can trust me, your Ladyship, though it’s a sad blow for us here, indeed. But I hope you’ll be happy with the other gentleman.”
“The other gentleman! It’s Mr. Mellors, and I care for him. Sir Clifford knows. But don’t say anything to anybody. And if one day you think Sir Clifford may be willing to divorce me, let me know, will you? I should like to be properly married to the man I care for.”
“I’m sure you would, my Lady! Oh, you can trust me. I’ll be faithful to Sir Clifford, and I’ll be faithful to you, for I can see you’re both right in your own ways.”
“Thank you! And look! I want to give you this—may I?—” So Connie left Wragby once more, and went on with Hilda to Scotland. Mellors went into the country and got work on a farm. The idea was, he should get his divorce, if possible, whether Connie got hers or not. And for six months he should work at farming, so that eventually he and Connie could have some small farm of their own, into which he could put his energy. For he would have to have some work, even hard work, to do, and he would have to make his own living, even if her capital started him.
So they would have to wait till spring was in, till the baby was born, till the early summer came round again.
The Grange Farm, Old Heanor, 29 September.
“I got on here with a bit of contriving, because I knew Richards, the company engineer, in the army. It is a farm belonging to Butler and Smitham Colliery Company, they use it for raising hay and oats for the pit-ponies; not a private concern. But they’ve got cows and pigs and all the rest of it, and I get thirty shillings a week as labourer. Rowley, the