you. Only life may turn quite a new face on it all.'
`But until life turns a new face on it all, you do agree?'
`Oh yes! I think I do, really.'
She was watching a brown spaniel that had run out of a side-path, and
was looking towards them with lifted nose, making a soft, fluffy bark. A man
with a gun strode swiftly, softly out after the dog, facing their way as if
about to attack them; then stopped instead, saluted, and was turning
downhill. It was only the new game-keeper, but he had frightened Connie, he
seemed to emerge with such a swift menace. That was how she had seen him,
like the sudden rush of a threat out of nowhere.
He was a man in dark green velveteens and gaiters...the old style, with
a red face and red moustache and distant eyes. He was going quickly
downhill.
`Mellors!' called Clifford.
The man faced lightly round, and saluted with a quick little gesture, a
soldier!
`Will you turn the chair round and get it started? That makes it
easier,' said Clifford.
The man at once slung his gun over his shoulder, and came forward with
the same curious swift, yet soft movements, as if keeping invisible. He was
moderately tall and lean, and was silent. He did not look at Connie at all,
only at the chair.
`Connie, this is the new game-keeper, Mellors. You haven't spoken to
her ladyship yet, Mellors?'
`No, Sir!' came the ready, neutral words.
The man lifted his hat as he stood, showing his thick, almost fair
hair. He stared straight into Connie's eyes, with a perfect, fearless,
impersonal look, as if he wanted to see what she was like. He made her feel
shy. She bent her head to him shyly, and he changed his hat to his left hand
and made her a slight bow, like a gentleman; but he said nothing at all. He
remained for a moment still, with his hat in his hand.
`But you've been here some time, haven't you?' Connie said to him.
`Eight months, Madam...your Ladyship!' he corrected himself calmly.
`And do you like it?'
She looked him in the eyes. His eyes narrowed a little, with irony,
perhaps with impudence.
`Why, yes, thank you, your Ladyship! I was reared here...'
He gave another slight bow, turned, put his hat on, and strode to take
hold of the chair. His voice on the last words had fallen into the heavy
broad drag of the dialect...perhaps also in mockery, because there had been
no trace of dialect before. He might almost be a gentleman. Anyhow, he was a
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