Shewaswatchingabrownspanielthathadrunoutofaside-path，andwaslookingtowardsthemwithliftednose，makingasoft，fluffybark。
Amanwithagunstrodeswiftly，softlyoutafterthedog，facingtheirwayasifabouttoattackthem；thenstoppedinstead，saluted，andwasturningdownhill。Itwasonlythenewgame-keeper，buthehadfrightenedConnie，heseemedtoemergewithsuchaswiftmenace。Thatwashowshehadseenhim，likethesuddenrushofathreatoutofnowhere。
Hewasamanindarkgreenvelveteensandgaiters……theoldstyle，witharedfaceandredmoustacheanddistanteyes。Hewasgoingquicklydownhill。
`Mellors!’calledClifford。
Themanfacedlightlyround，andsalutedwithaquicklittlegesture，asoldier!
`Willyouturnthechairroundandgetitstarted？Thatmakesiteasier，’
saidClifford。
Themanatonceslunghisgunoverhisshoulder，andcameforwardwiththesamecuriousswift，yetsoftmovements，asifkeepinginvisible。Hewasmoderatelytallandlean，andwassilent。HedidnotlookatConnieatall，onlyatthechair。
`Connie，thisisthenewgame-keeper，Mellors。Youhaven’tspokentoherladyshipyet，Mellors？’
`No，Sir!’cametheready，neutralwords。
Themanliftedhishatashestood，showinghisthick，almostfairhair。
HestaredstraightintoConnie’seyes，withaperfect，fearless，impersonallook，asifhewantedtoseewhatshewaslike。Hemadeherfeelshy。Shebentherheadtohimshyly，andhechangedhishattohislefthandandmadeheraslightbow，likeagentleman；buthesaidnothingatall。Heremainedforamomentstill，withhishatinhishand。
`Butyou’vebeenheresometime，haven’tyou？’Conniesaidtohim。
`Eightmonths，Madam……yourLadyship!’hecorrectedhimselfcalmly。
`Anddoyoulikeit？’
Shelookedhimintheeyes。Hiseyesnarrowedalittle，withirony，perhapswithimpudence。
`Why，yes，thankyou，yourLadyship!Iwasrearedhere……’
Hegaveanotherslightbow，turned，puthishaton，andstrodetotakeholdofthechair。Hisvoiceonthelastwordshadfallenintotheheavybroaddragofthedialect……perhapsalsoinmockery，becausetherehadbeennotraceofdialectbefore。Hemightalmostbeagentleman。Anyhow，hewasacurious，quick，separatefellow，alone，butsureofhimself。
Cliffordstartedthelittleengine，themancarefullyturnedthechair，andsetitnose-forwardstotheinclinethatcurvedgentlytothedarkhazelthicket。
`Isthatallthen，SirClifford？’askedtheman。
`No，you’dbettercomealongincaseshesticks。Theengineisn’treallystrongenoughfortheuphillwork。’Themanglancedroundforhisdog……athoughtfulglance。Thespaniellookedathimandfaintlymoveditstail。
Alittlesmile，mockingorteasingher，yetgentle，cameintohiseyesforamoment，thenfadedaway，andhisfacewasexpressionless。Theywentfairlyquicklydowntheslope，themanwithhishandontherailofthechair，steadyingit。Helookedlikeafreesoldierratherthanaservant。
AndsomethingabouthimremindedConnieofTommyDukes。
Whentheycametothehazelgrove，Conniesuddenlyranforward，andopenedthegateintothepark。Asshestoodholdingit，thetwomenlookedatherinpassing，Cliffordcritically，theothermanwithacurious，coolwonder；impersonallywantingtoseewhatshelookedlike。Andshesawinhisblue，impersonaleyesalookofsufferinganddetachment，yetacertainwarmth。Butwhywashesoaloof，apart？
Cliffordstoppedthechair，oncethroughthegate，andthemancamequickly，courteously，tocloseit。
`Whydidyouruntoopen？’askedCliffordinhisquiet，calmvoice，thatshowedhewasdispleased。`Mellorswouldhavedoneit。’
`Ithoughtyouwouldgostraightahead，’saidConnie。`Andleaveyoutorunafterus？’saidClifford。
`Oh，well，Iliketorunsometimes!’
Mellorstookthechairagain，lookingperfectlyunheeding，yetConniefelthenotedeverything。Ashepushedthechairupthesteepishriseoftheknollinthepark，hebreathedratherquickly，throughpartedlips。
Hewasratherfrailreally。Curiouslyfullofvitality，butalittlefrailandquenched。Herwoman’sinstinctsensedit。
Conniefellback，letthechairgoon。Thedayhadgreyedover；thesmallblueskythathadpoisedlowonitscircularrimsofhazewasclosedinagain，thelidwasdown，therewasarawcoldness。Itwasgoingtosnow。
Allgrey，allgrey!theworldlookedwornout。
Thechairwaitedatthetopofthepinkpath。CliffordlookedroundforConnie。
`Nottired，areyou？’hesaid。
`Oh，no!’shesaid。
Butshewas。Astrange，wearyyearning，adissatisfactionhadstartedinher。Clifforddidnotnotice：thosewerenotthingshewasawareof。
Butthestrangerknew。ToConnie，everythinginherworldandlifeseemedwornout，andherdissatisfactionwasolderthanthehills。
Theycametothehouse，andaroundtotheback，wheretherewerenosteps。Cliffordmanagedtoswinghimselfoverontothelow，wheeledhouse-chair；
hewasverystrongandagilewithhisarms。ThenConnieliftedtheburdenofhisdeadlegsafterhim。
Thekeeper，waitingatattentiontobedismissed，watchedeverythingnarrowly，missingnothing。Hewentpale，withasortoffear，whenhesawConnieliftingtheinertlegsofthemaninherarms，intotheotherchair，Cliffordpivotingroundasshedidso。Hewasfrightened。
`Thanks，then，forthehelp，Mellors，’saidCliffordcasually，ashebegantowheeldownthepassagetotheservants’quarters。
`Nothingelse，Sir？’cametheneutralvoice，likeoneinadream。
`Nothing，goodmorning!’
`Goodmorning，Sir。’
`Goodmorning!itwaskindofyoutopushthechairupthathill……I
hopeitwasn’theavyforyou，’saidConnie，lookingbackatthekeeperoutsidethedoor。
Hiseyescametohersinaninstant，asifwakenedup。Hewasawareofher。
`Ohno，notheavy!’hesaidquickly。Thenhisvoicedroppedagainintothebroadsoundofthevernacular：`Goodmornin’toyourLadyship!’
`Whoisyourgame-keeper？’Connieaskedatlunch。
`Mellors!Yousawhim，’saidClifford。
`Yes，butwheredidhecomefrom？’
`Nowhere!HewasaTevershallboy……sonofacollier，Ibelieve。’
`Andwasheacollierhimself？’
`Blacksmithonthepit-bank，Ibelieve：overheadsmith。Buthewaskeeperherefortwoyearsbeforethewar……beforehejoinedup。MyfatheralwayshadagoodOpinionofhim，sowhenhecameback，andwenttothepitforablacksmith’sjob，Ijusttookhimbackhereaskeeper。Iwasreallyverygladtogethim……itsalmostimpossibletofindagoodmanroundhereforagamekeeper……anditneedsamanwhoknowsthepeople。’
`Andisn’themarried？’
`Hewas。Buthiswifewentoffwith……withvariousmen……butfinallywithacollieratStacksGate，andIbelieveshe’slivingtherestill。’
`Sothismanisalone？’
`Moreorless!Hehasamotherinthevillage……andachild，Ibelieve。’
CliffordlookedatConnie，withhispale，slightlyprominentblueeyes，inwhichacertainvaguenesswascoming。Heseemedalertintheforeground，butthebackgroundwasliketheMidlandsatmosphere，haze，smokymist。
Andthehazeseemedtobecreepingforward。SowhenhestaredatConnieinhispeculiarway，givingherhispeculiar，preciseinformation，shefeltallthebackgroundofhismindfillingupwithmist，withnothingness。
Anditfrightenedher。Itmadehimseemimpersonal，almosttoidiocy。
Anddimlysherealizedoneofthegreatlawsofthehumansoul：thatwhentheemotionalsoulreceivesawoundingshock，whichdoesnotkillthebody，thesoulseemstorecoverasthebodyrecovers。Butthisisonlyappearance。Itisreallyonlythemechanismofthere-assumedhabit。Slowly，slowlythewoundtothesoulbeginstomakeitselffelt，likeabruise，whichOnlyslowlydeepensitsterribleache，tillitfillsallthepsyche。
Andwhenwethinkwehaverecoveredandforgotten，itisthenthattheterribleafter-effectshavetobeencounteredattheirworst。
SoitwaswithClifford。Oncehewas`well’，oncehewasbackatWragby，andwritinghisstories，andfeelingsureoflife，inspiteofall，heseemedtoforget，andtohaverecoveredallhisequanimity。Butnow，astheyearswentby，slowly，slowly，Conniefeltthebruiseoffearandhorrorcomingup，andspreadinginhim。Foratimeithadbeensodeepastobenumb，asitwerenon-existent。Nowslowlyitbegantoassertitselfinaspreadoffear，almostparalysis。Mentallyhestillwasalert。Buttheparalysis，thebruiseofthetoo-greatshock，wasgraduallyspreadinginhisaffectiveself。
Andasitspreadinhim，Conniefeltitspreadinher。Aninwarddread，anemptiness，anindifferencetoeverythinggraduallyspreadinhersoul。
WhenCliffordwasroused，hecouldstilltalkbrilliantlyand，asitwere，commandthefuture：aswhen，inthewood，hetalkedaboutherhavingachild，andgivinganheirtoWragby。Butthedayafter，allthebrilliantwordsseemedlikedeadleaves，crumplingupandturningtopowder，meaningreallynothing，blownawayonanygustofwind。Theywerenottheleafywordsofaneffectivelife，youngwithenergyandbelongingtothetree。
Theywerethehostsoffallenleavesofalifethatisineffectual。
Soitseemedtohereverywhere。ThecolliersatTevershallweretalkingagainofastrike，anditseemedtoConniethereagainitwasnotamanifestationofenergy，itwasthebruiseofthewarthathadbeeninabeyance，slowlyrisingtothesurfaceandcreatingthegreatacheofunrest，andstuporofdiscontent。Thebruisewasdeep，deep，deep……thebruiseofthefalseinhumanwar。Itwouldtakemanyyearsforthelivingbloodofthegenerationstodissolvethevastblackclotofbruisedblood，deepinsidetheirsoulsandbodies。Anditwouldneedanewhope。
PoorConnie!AstheyearsdrewonitwasthefearofnothingnessInherlifethataffectedher。Clifford’smentallifeandhersgraduallybegantofeellikenothingness。Theirmarriage，theirintegratedlifebasedonahabitofintimacy，thathetalkedabout：thereweredayswhenitallbecameutterlyblankandnothing。Itwaswords，justsomanywords。Theonlyrealitywasnothingness，andoveritahypocrisyofwords。
TherewasClifford’ssuccess：thebitch-goddess!Itwastruehewasalmostfamous，andhisbooksbroughthiminathousandpounds。Hisphotographappearedeverywhere。Therewasabustofhiminoneofthegalleries，andaportraitofhimintwogalleries。Heseemedthemostmodernofmodernvoices。Withhisuncannylameinstinctforpublicity，hehadbecomeinfourorfiveyearsoneofthebestknownoftheyoung`intellectuals’。
Wheretheintellectcamein，Conniedidnotquitesee。Cliffordwasreallycleveratthatslightlyhumorousanalysisofpeopleandmotiveswhichleaveseverythinginbitsattheend。Butitwasratherlikepuppiestearingthesofacushionstobits；exceptthatitwasnotyoungandplayful，butcuriouslyold，andratherobstinatelyconceited。Itwasweirdanditwasnothing。
Thiswasthefeelingthatechoedandre-echoedatthebottomofConnie’ssoul：itwasallflag，awonderfuldisplayofnothingness；Atthesametimeadisplay。Adisplay!adisplay!adisplay!
MichaelishadseizeduponCliffordasthecentralfigureforaplay；
alreadyhehadsketchedintheplot，andwrittenthefirstact。ForMichaeliswasevenbetterthanCliffordatmakingadisplayofnothingness。Itwasthelastbitofpassionleftinthesemen：thepassionformakingadisplay。
Sexuallytheywerepassionless，evendead。AndnowitwasnotmoneythatMichaeliswasafter。Cliffordhadneverbeenprimarilyoutformoney，thoughhemadeitwherehecould，formoneyisthesealandstampofsuccess。
Andsuccesswaswhattheywanted。Theywanted，bothofthem，tomakearealdisplay……aman’sownverydisplayofhimselfthatshouldcaptureforatimethevastpopulace。
Itwasstrange……theprostitutiontothebitch-goddess。ToConnie，sinceshewasreallyoutsideofit，andsinceshehadgrownnumbtothethrillofit，itwasagainnothingness。Eventheprostitutiontothebitch-goddesswasnothingness，thoughthemenprostitutedthemselvesinnumerabletimes。
Nothingnesseventhat。
MichaeliswrotetoCliffordabouttheplay。Ofcoursesheknewaboutitlongago。AndCliffordwasagainthrilled。Hewasgoingtobedisplayedagainthistime，somebodywasgoingtodisplayhim，andtoadvantage。HeinvitedMichaelisdowntoWragbywithActI。
Michaeliscame：insummer，inapale-colouredsuitandwhitesuedegloves，withmauveorchidsforConnie，verylovely，andActIwasagreatsuccess。
EvenConniewasthrilled……thrilledtowhatbitofmarrowshehadleft。
AndMichaelis，thrilledbyhispowertothrill，wasreallywonderful……andquitebeautiful，inConnie’seyes。Shesawinhimthatancientmotionlessnessofaracethatcan’tbedisillusionedanymore，anextreme，perhaps，ofimpuritythatispure。Onthefarsideofhissupremeprostitutiontothebitch-goddessheseemedpure，pureasanAfricanivorymaskthatdreamsimpurityintopurity，initsivorycurvesandplanes。
HismomentofsheerthrillwiththetwoChatterleys，whenhesimplycarriedConnieandCliffordaway，wasoneofthesuprememomentsofMichaelis’
life。Hehadsucceeded：hehadcarriedthemaway。EvenCliffordwastemporarilyinlovewithhim……ifthatisthewayonecanputit。
SonextmorningMickwasmoreuneasythanever；restless，devoured，withhishandsrestlessinhistrouserspockets。Conniehadnotvisitedhiminthenight……andhehadnotknownwheretofindher。Coquetry!……athismomentoftriumph。
Hewentuptohersitting-roominthemorning。Sheknewhewouldcome。
Andhisrestlessnesswasevident。Heaskedherabouthisplay……didshethinkitgood？Hehadtohearitpraised：thataffectedhimwiththelastthinthrillofpassionbeyondanysexualorgasm。Andshepraiseditrapturously。
Yetallthewhile，atthebottomofhersoul，sheknewitwasnothing。
`Lookhere!’hesaidsuddenlyatlast。`Whydon’tyouandImakeacleanthingofit？Whydon’twemarry？’
`ButIammarried，’shesaid，amazed，andyetfeelingnothing。
`Ohthat!……he’lldivorceyouallright……Whydon’tyouandImarry？
Iwanttomarry。Iknowitwouldbethebestthingforme……marryandleadaregularlife。Ileadthedeuceofalife，simplytearingmyselftopieces。
Lookhere，youandI，we’remadeforoneanother……handandglove。Whydon’twemarry？Doyouseeanyreasonwhyweshouldn’t？’
Connielookedathimamazed：andyetshefeltnothing。Thesemen，theywereallalike，theylefteverythingout。Theyjustwentofffromthetopoftheirheadsasiftheyweresquibs，andexpectedyoutobecarriedheavenwardsalongwiththeirownthinsticks。