feelings. And again Connie flushed; she felt she had been making a scene,
the man did not respect her.
`What is your name?' she said playfully to the child. `Won't you tell
me your name?'
Sniffs; then very affectedly in a piping voice: `Connie Mellors!'
`Connie Mellors! Well, that's a nice name! And did you come out with
your Daddy, and he shot a pussy? But it was a bad pussy!'
The child looked at her, with bold, dark eyes of scrutiny, sizing her
up, and her condolence.
`I wanted to stop with my Gran,' said the little girl.
`Did you? But where is your Gran?'
The child lifted an arm, pointing down the drive. `At th' cottidge.'
`At the cottage! And would you like to go back to her?'
Sudden, shuddering quivers of reminiscent sobs. `Yes!'
`Come then, shall I take you? Shall I take you to your Gran? Then your
Daddy can do what he has to do.' She turned to the man. `It is your little
girl, isn't it?'
He saluted, and made a slight movement of the head in affirmation.
`I suppose I can take her to the cottage?' asked Connie.
`If your Ladyship wishes.'
Again he looked into her eyes, with that calm, searching detached
glance. A man very much alone, and on his own.
`Would you like to come with me to the cottage, to your Gran, dear?'
The child peeped up again. `Yes!' she simpered.
Connie disliked her; the spoilt, false little female. Nevertheless she
wiped her face and took her hand. The keeper saluted in silence.
`Good morning!' said Connie.
It was nearly a mile to the cottage, and Connie senior was well red by
Connie junior by the time the game-keeper's picturesque little home was in
sight. The child was already as full to the brim with tricks as a little
monkey, and so self-assured.
At the cottage the door stood open, and there was a rattling heard
inside. Connie lingered, the child slipped her hand, and ran indoors.
`Gran! Gran!'
`Why, are yer back a'ready!'
The grandmother had been blackleading the stove, it was Saturday
morning. She came to the door in her sacking apron, a blacklead-brush in her
hand, and a black smudge on her nose. She was a little, rather dry woman.
`Why, whatever?' she said, hastily wiping her arm across her face as
she saw Connie standing outside.
`Good morning!' said Connie. `She was crying, so I just brought her
home.'
The grandmother looked around swiftly at the child:
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