Wragbywasthere，theservants……butspectral，notreallyexisting。Conniewentforwalksinthepark，andinthewoodsthatjoinedthepark，andenjoyedthesolitudeandthemystery，kickingthebrownleavesofautumn，andpickingtheprimrosesofspring。Butitwasalladream；orratheritwaslikethesimulacrumofreality。Theoak-leavesweretoherlikeoak-leavesseenrufflinginamirror，sheherselfwasafiguresomebodyhadreadabout，pickingprimrosesthatwereonlyshadowsormemories，orwords。Nosubstancetoheroranything……notouch，nocontact!OnlythislifewithClifford，thisendlessspinningofwebsofyarn，oftheminutiaeofconsciousness，thesestoriesSirMalcolmsaidtherewasnothingin，andtheywouldn’tlast。Whyshouldtherebeanythinginthem，whyshouldtheylast？Sufficientuntothedayistheevilthereof。Sufficientuntothemomentistheappearanceofreality。
Cliffordhadquiteanumberoffriends，acquaintancesreally，andheinvitedthemtoWragby。Heinvitedallsortsofpeople，criticsandwriters，peoplewhowouldhelptopraisehisbooks。AndtheywereflatteredatbeingaskedtoWragby，andtheypraised。Connieunderstooditallperfectly。
Butwhynot？Thiswasoneofthefleetingpatternsinthemirror。Whatwaswrongwithit？
Shewashostesstothesepeople……mostlymen。ShewashostessalsotoClifford’soccasionalaristocraticrelations。Beingasoft，ruddy，country-lookinggirl，inclinedtofreckles，withbigblueeyes，andcurling，brownhair，andasoftvoice，andratherstrong，femaleloinsshewasconsideredalittleold-fashionedand`womanly’。Shewasnota`littlepilchardsortoffish’，likeaboy，withaboy’sflatbreastandlittlebuttocks。Shewastoofemininetobequitesmart。
Sothemen，especiallythosenolongeryoung，wereverynicetoherindeed。But，knowingwhattorturepoorCliffordwouldfeelattheslightestsignofflirtingonherpart，shegavethemnoencouragementatall。Shewasquietandvague，shehadnocontactwiththemandintendedtohavenone。Cliffordwasextraordinarilyproudofhimself。
Hisrelativestreatedherquitekindly。Sheknewthatthekindlinessindicatedalackoffear，andthatthesepeoplehadnorespectforyouunlessyoucouldfrightenthemalittle。Butagainshehadnocontact。
Sheletthembekindlyanddisdainful，sheletthemfeeltheyhadnoneedtodrawtheirsteelinreadiness。Shehadnorealconnexionwiththem。
Timewenton。Whateverhappened，nothinghappened，becauseshewassobeautifullyoutofcontact。SheandCliffordlivedintheirideasandhisbooks。Sheentertained……therewerealwayspeopleinthehouse。Timewentonastheclockdoes，halfpasteightinsteadofhalfpastseven。
Chapter3
Conniewasaware，however，ofagrowingrestlessness。Outofherdisconnexion，arestlessnesswastakingpossessionofherlikemadness。Ittwitchedherlimbswhenshedidn’twanttotwitchthem，itjerkedherspinewhenshedidn’twanttojerkuprightbutpreferredtorestcomfortably。Itthrilledinsideherbody，inherwomb，somewhere，tillshefeltshemustjumpintowaterandswimtogetawayfromit；amadrestlessness。Itmadeherheartbeatviolentlyfornoreason。Andshewasgettingthinner。
Itwasjustrestlessness。Shewouldrushoffacrossthepark，abandonClifford，andlieproneinthebracken。Togetawayfromthehouse……shemustgetawayfromthehouseandeverybody。Theworkwasheronerefuge，hersanctuary。
Butitwasnotreallyarefuge，asanctuary，becauseshehadnoconnexionwithit。Itwasonlyaplacewhereshecouldgetawayfromtherest。Sheneverreallytouchedthespiritofthewooditself……ifithadanysuchnonsensicalthing。
Vaguelysheknewherselfthatshewasgoingtopiecesinsomeway。Vaguelysheknewshewasoutofconnexion：shehadlosttouchwiththesubstantialandvitalworld。OnlyCliffordandhisbooks，whichdidnotexist……whichhadnothinginthem!Voidtovoid。Vaguelysheknew。Butitwaslikebeatingherheadagainstastone。
Herfatherwarnedheragain：`Whydon’tyougetyourselfabeau，Connie？
Doyouallthegoodintheworld。’
ThatwinterMichaeliscameforafewdays。HewasayoungIrishmanwhohadalreadymadealargefortunebyhisplaysinAmerica。HehadbeentakenupquiteenthusiasticallyforatimebysmartsocietyinLondon，forhewrotesmartsocietyplays。Thengraduallysmartsocietyrealizedthatithadbeenmaderidiculousatthehandsofadown-at-heelDublinstreet-rat，andrevulsioncame。Michaeliswasthelastwordinwhatwascaddishandbounderish。Hewasdiscoveredtobeanti-English，andtotheclassthatmadethisdiscoverythiswasworsethanthedirtiestcrime。Hewascutdead，andhiscorpsethrownintotherefusecan。
NeverthelessMichaelishadhisapartmentinMayfair，andwalkeddownBondStreettheimageofagentleman，foryoucannotgeteventhebesttailorstocuttheirlow-downcustomers，whenthecustomerspay。
Cliffordwasinvitingtheyoungmanofthirtyataninauspiciousmomentinthyoungman’scareer。YetClifforddidnothesitate。Michaelishadtheearofafewmillionpeople，probably；and，beingahopelessoutsider，hewouldnodoubtbegratefultobeaskeddowntoWragbyatthisjuncture，whentherestofthesmartworldwascuttinghim。Beinggrateful，hewouldnodoubtdoClifford`good’overthereinAmerica。Kudos!Amangetsalotofkudos，whateverthatmaybe，bybeingtalkedaboutintherightway，especially`overthere’。Cliffordwasacomingman；anditwasremarkablewhatasoundpublicityinstincthehad。IntheendMichaelisdidhimmostnoblyinaplay，andCliffordwasasortofpopularhero。Tillthereaction，whenhefoundhehadbeenmaderidiculous。
ConniewonderedalittleoverClifford’sblind，imperiousinstincttobecomeknown：known，thatis，tothevastamorphousworldhedidnothimselfknow，andofwhichhewasuneasilyafraid；knownasawriter，asafirst-classmodernwriter。Conniewasawarefromsuccessful，old，hearty，bluffingSirMalcolm，thatartistsdidadvertisethemselves，andexertthemselvestoputtheirgoodsover。Butherfatherusedchannelsready-made，usedbyalltheotherR。A。swhosoldtheirpictures。WhereasClifforddiscoverednewchannelsofpublicity，allkinds。HehadallkindsofpeopleatWragby，withoutexactlyloweringhimself。But，determinedtobuildhimselfamonumentofareputationquickly，heusedanyhandyrubbleinthemaking。
Michaelisarrivedduly，inaveryneatcar，withachauffeurandamanservant。
HewasabsolutelyBondStreet!ButatrightofhimsomethinginClifford’scountysoulrecoiled。Hewasn’texactly……notexactly……infact，hewasn’tatall，well，whathisappearanceintendedtoimply。ToCliffordthiswasfinalandenough。Yethewasverypolitetotheman；totheamazingsuccessinhim。Thebitch-goddess，assheiscalled，ofSuccess，roamed，snarlingandprotective，roundthehalf-humble，half-defiantMichaelis’heels，andintimidatedCliffordcompletely：forhewantedtoprostitutehimselftothebitch-goddess，Successalso，ifonlyshewouldhavehim。
Michaelisobviouslywasn’tanEnglishman，inspiteofallthetailors，hatters，barbers，bootersoftheverybestquarterofLondon。No，no，heobviouslywasn’tanEnglishman：thewrongsortofflattish，palefaceandbearing；andthewrongsortofgrievance。Hehadagrudgeandagrievance：
thatwasobvioustoanytrue-bornEnglishgentleman，whowouldscorntoletsuchathingappearblatantinhisowndemeanour。PoorMichaelishadbeenmuchkicked，sothathehadaslightlytail-between-the-legslookevennow。Hehadpushedhiswaybysheerinstinctandsheerereffronteryontothestageandtothefrontofit，withhisplays。Hehadcaughtthepublic。Andhehadthoughtthekickingdayswereover。Alas，theyweren’t……
Theyneverwouldbe。Forhe，inasense，askedtobekicked。Hepinedtobewherehedidn’tbelong……amongtheEnglishupperclasses。Andhowtheyenjoyedthevariouskickstheygotathim!Andhowhehatedthem!
Neverthelesshetravelledwithhismanservantandhisveryneatcar，thisDublinmongrel。
TherewassomethingabouthimthatConnieliked。Hedidn’tputonairstohimself，hehadnoillusionsabouthimself。HetalkedtoCliffordsensibly，briefly，practically，aboutallthethingsCliffordwantedtoknow。Hedidn’texpandorlethimselfgo。HeknewhehadbeenaskeddowntoWragbytobemadeuseof，andlikeanold，shrewd，almostindifferentbusinessman，orbig-businessman，helethimselfbeaskedquestions，andheansweredwithaslittlewasteoffeelingaspossible。
`Money!’hesaid。`Moneyisasortofinstinct。It’sasortofpropertyofnatureinamantomakemoney。It’snothingyoudo。It’snotrickyouplay。It’sasortofpermanentaccidentofyourownnature；onceyoustart，youmakemoney，andyougoon；uptoapoint，Isuppose。’
`Butyou’vegottobegin，’saidClifford。
`Oh，quite!You’vegottogetin。Youcandonothingifyouarekeptoutside。You’vegottobeatyourwayin。Onceyou’vedonethat，youcan’thelpit。’
`Butcouldyouhavemademoneyexceptbyplays？’askedClifford。
`Oh，probablynot!ImaybeagoodwriterorImaybeabadone，butawriterandawriterofplaysiswhatIam，andI’vegottobe。There’snoquestionofthat。’
`Andyouthinkit’sawriterofpopularplaysthatyou’vegottobe？’
askedConnie。
`There，exactly!’hesaid，turningtoherinasuddenflash。`There’snothinginit!There’snothinginpopularity。There’snothinginthepublic，ifitcomestothat。There’snothingreallyinmyplaystomakethempopular。
It’snotthat。Theyjustareliketheweather……thesortthatwillhavetobe……forthetimebeing。’
Heturnedhisslow，ratherfulleyes，thathadbeendrownedinsuchfathomlessdisillusion，onConnie，andshetrembledalittle。Heseemedsoold……endlesslyold，builtupoflayersofdisillusion，goingdowninhimgenerationaftergeneration，likegeologicalstrata；andatthesametimehewasforlornlikeachild。Anoutcast，inacertainsense；butwiththedesperatebraveryofhisrat-likeexistence。
`Atleastit’swonderfulwhatyou’vedoneatyourtimeoflife，’saidCliffordcontemplatively。
`I’mthirty……yes，I’mthirty!’saidMichaelis，sharplyandsuddenly，withacuriouslaugh；hollow，triumphant，andbitter。
`Andareyoualone？’askedConnie。
`Howdoyoumean？DoIlivealone？I’vegotmyservant。He’saGreek，sohesays，andquiteincompetent。ButIkeephim。AndI’mgoingtomarry。
Oh，yes，Imustmarry。’
`Itsoundslikegoingtohaveyourtonsilscut，’laughedConnie。`Willitbeaneffort？’
Helookedatheradmiringly。`Well，LadyChatterley，somehowitwill!
Ifind……excuseme……IfindIcan’tmarryanEnglishwoman，notevenanIrishwoman……’
`TryanAmerican，’saidClifford。
`Oh，American!’Helaughedahollowlaugh。`No，I’veaskedmymanifhewillfindmeaTurkorsomething……somethingnearertotheOriental。’
Conniereallywonderedatthisqueer，melancholyspecimenofextraordinarysuccess；itwassaidhehadanincomeoffiftythousanddollarsfromAmericaalone。Sometimeshewashandsome：sometimesashelookedsideways，downwards，andthelightfellonhim，hehadthesilent，enduringbeautyofacarvedivoryNegromask，withhisratherfulleyes，andthestrongqueerly-archedbrows，theimmobile，compressedmouth；thatmomentarybutrevealedimmobility，animmobility，atimelessnesswhichtheBuddhaaimsat，andwhichNegroesexpresssometimeswithouteveraimingatit；somethingold，old，andacquiescentintherace!Aeonsofacquiescenceinracedestiny，insteadofourindividualresistance。Andthenaswimmingthrough，likeratsinadarkriver。Conniefeltasudden，strangeleapofsympathyforhim，aleapmingledwithcompassion，andtingedwithrepulsion，amountingalmosttolove。Theoutsider!Theoutsider!Andtheycalledhimabounder!HowmuchmorebounderishandassertiveCliffordlooked!Howmuchstupider!
Michaelisknewatoncehehadmadeanimpressiononher。Heturnedhisfull，hazel，slightlyprominenteyesonherinalookofpuredetachment。
Hewasestimatingher，andtheextentoftheimpressionhehadmade。WiththeEnglishnothingcouldsavehimfrombeingtheeternaloutsider，notevenlove。Yetwomensometimesfellforhim……Englishwomentoo。
HeknewjustwherehewaswithClifford。Theyweretwoaliendogswhichwouldhavelikedtosnarlatoneanother，butwhichsmiledinstead，perforce。
Butwiththewomanhewasnotquitesosure。
Breakfastwasservedinthebedrooms；Cliffordneverappearedbeforelunch，andthedining-roomwasalittledreary。AftercoffeeMichaelis，restlessandill-sittingsoul，wonderedwhatheshoulddo。ItwasafineNovember……dayfineforWragby。Helookedoverthemelancholypark。MyGod!Whataplace!
Hesentaservanttoask，couldhebeofanyservicetoLadyChatterley：
hethoughtofdrivingintoSheffield。Theanswercame，wouldhecaretogouptoLadyChatterley’ssitting-room。
Conniehadasitting-roomonthethirdfloor，thetopfloorofthecentralportionofthehouse。Clifford’sroomswereonthegroundfloor，ofcourse。
MichaeliswasflatteredbybeingaskeduptoLadyChatterley’sownparlour。
Hefollowedblindlyaftertheservant……henevernoticedthings，orhadcontactwithIsissurroundings。InherroomhedidglancevaguelyroundatthefineGermanreproductionsofRenoirandCé；zanne。
`It’sverypleasantuphere，’hesaid，withhisqueersmile，asifithurthimtosmile，showinghisteeth。`Youarewisetogetuptothetop。’
`Yes，Ithinkso，’shesaid。
Herroomwastheonlygay，modernoneinthehouse，theonlyspotinWragbywhereherpersonalitywasatallrevealed。Cliffordhadneverseenit，andsheaskedveryfewpeopleup。
NowsheandMichaelissitonoppositesidesofthefireandtalked。
Sheaskedhimabouthimself，hismotherandfather，hisbrothers……otherpeoplewerealwayssomethingofawondertoher，andwhenhersympathywasawakenedshewasquitedevoidofclassfeeling。Michaelistalkedfranklyabouthimself，quitefrankly，withoutaffectation，simplyrevealinghisbitter，indifferent，stray-dog’ssoul，thenshowingagleamofrevengefulprideinhissuccess。
`Butwhyareyousuchalonelybird？’Connieaskedhim；andagainhelookedather，withhisfull，searching，hazellook。
`Somebirdsarethatway，’hereplied。Then，withatouchoffamiliarirony：`but，lookhere，whataboutyourself？Aren’tyoubywayofbeingalonelybirdyourself？’Connie，alittlestartled，thoughtaboutitforafewmoments，andthenshesaid：`Onlyinaway!Notaltogether，likeyou!’
`AmIaltogetheralonelybird？’heasked，withhisqueergrinofasmile，asifhehadtoothache；itwassowry，andhiseyesweresoperfectlyunchanginglymelancholy，orstoical，ordisillusionedorafraid。
`Why？’shesaid，alittlebreathless，asshelookedathim。`Youare，aren’tyou？’
Shefeltaterribleappealcomingtoherfromhim，thatmadeheralmostloseherbalance。