Hewassilentforalongtime。
`Howareyougoingaboutitforus？’hesaid。
`WewillseeifDuncanwillconsenttofigureasco-respondent：thenwemustgetCliffordtodivorceConnie：andyoumustgoonwithyourdivorce，andyoumustbothkeepaparttillyouarefree。’
`Soundslikealunaticasylum。’
`Possibly!Andtheworldwouldlookonyouaslunatics：orworse。；
`Whatisworse？’
`Criminals，Isuppose。’
`HopeIcanplungeinthedaggerafewmoretimesyet，’hesaid，grinning。
Thenhewassilent，andangry。
`Well!’hesaidatlast。`Iagreetoanything。Theworldisaravingidiot，andnomancankillit：thoughI’lldomybest。Butyoureright。
Wemustrescueourselvesasbestwecan。’
Helookedinhumiliation，anger，wearinessandmiseryatConnie。
`Malass!’hesaid。`Theworld’sgoin’toputsaltonthytail。’
`Notifwedon’tletit，’shesaid。
Shemindedthisconnivingagainsttheworldlessthanhedid。
Duncan，whenapproached，alsoinsistedonseeingthedelinquentgame-keeper，sotherewasadinner，thistimeinhisflat：thefourofthem。Duncanwasarathershort，broad，dark-skinned，taciturnHamletofafellowwithstraightblackhairandaweirdCelticconceitofhimself。Hisartwasalltubesandvalvesandspiralsandstrangecolours，ultra-modern，yetwithacertainpower，evenacertainpurityofformandtone：onlyMellorsthoughtitcruelandrepellent。Hedidnotventuretosayso，forDuncanwasalmostinsaneonthepointofhisart：itwasapersonalcult，apersonalreligionwithhim。
Theywerelookingatthepicturesinthestudio，andDuncankepthissmallishbrowneyesontheotherman。Hewantedtohearwhatthegame-keeperwouldsay。HeknewalreadyConnie’sandHilda’sopinions。
`Itislikeapurebitofmurder，’saidMellorsatlast；aspeechDuncanbynomeansexpectedfromagame-keeper。
`Andwhoismurdered？’askedHilda，rathercoldlyandsneeringly。
`Me!Itmurdersallthebowelsofcompassioninaman。’
Awaveofpurehatecameoutoftheartist。Heheardthenoteofdislikeintheotherman’svoice，andthenoteofcontempt。Andhehimselfloathedthementionofbowelsofcompassion。Sicklysentiment!
Mellorsstoodrathertallandthin，worn-looking，gazingwithflickeringdetachmentthatwassomethinglikethedancingofamothonthewing，atthepictures。
`Perhapsstupidityismurdered；sentimentalstupidity，’sneeredtheartist。
`Doyouthinkso？Ithinkallthesetubesandcorrugatedvibrationsarestupidenoughforanything，andprettysentimental。Theyshowalotofself-pityandanawfullotofnervousself-opinion，seemstome。’
Inanotherwaveofhatetheartist’sfacelookedyellow。Butwithasortofsilenthauteurheturnedthepicturestothewall。
`Ithinkwemaygotothedining-room，’hesaid。Andtheytrailedoff，dismally。
Aftercoffee，Duncansaid：
`Idon’tatallmindposingasthefatherofConnie’schild。Butonlyontheconditionthatshe’llcomeandposeasamodelforme。I’vewantedherforyears，andshe’salwaysrefused。’Heuttereditwiththedarkfinalityofaninquisitorannouncinganautodafe。
`Ah!’saidMellors。`Youonlydoitoncondition，then？’
`Quite!Ionlydoitonthatcondition。’Theartisttriedtoputtheutmostcontemptoftheotherpersonintohisspeech。Heputalittletoomuch。
`Betterhavemeasamodelatthesametime，’saidMellors。`Betterdousinagroup，VulcanandVenusunderthenetofart。Iusedtobeablacksmith，beforeIwasagame-keeper。’
`Thankyou，’saidtheartist。`Idon’tthinkVulcanhasafigurethatinterestsme。’
`Notevenifitwastubifiedandtitivatedup？’
Therewasnoanswer。Theartistwastoohaughtyforfurtherwords。
Itwasadismalparty，inwhichtheartisthenceforthsteadilyignoredthepresenceoftheotherman，andtalkedonlybriefly，asifthewordswerewrungoutofthedepthsofhisgloomyportentousness，tothewomen。
`Youdidn’tlikehim，buthe’sbetterthanthat，really。He’sreallykind，’Connieexplainedastheyleft。
`He’salittleblackpupwithacorrugateddistemper，’saidMellors。
`No，hewasn’tnicetoday。’
`Andwillyougoandbeamodeltohim？’
`Oh，Idon’treallymindanymore。Hewon’ttouchme。AndIdon’tmindanything，ifitpavesthewaytoalifetogetherforyouandme。’
`Buthe’llonlyshitonyouoncanvas。’
`Idon’tcare。He’llonlybepaintinghisownfeelingsforme，andI
don’tmindifhedoesthat。Iwouldn’thavehimtouchme，notforanything。
Butifhethinkshecandoanythingwithhisowlishartystaring，lethimstare。Hecanmakeasmanyemptytubesandcorrugationsoutofmeashelikes。It’shisfuneral。Hehatedyouforwhatyousaid：thathistubifiedartissentimentalandself-important。Butofcourseit’strue。’
Chapter19DearClifford，Iamafraidwhatyouforesawhashappened。I
amreallyinlovewithanotherman，anddohopeyouwilldivorceme。I
amstayingatpresentwithDuncanitshisflat。ItoldyouhewasatVenicewithus。I’mawfullyunhappyforyoursake：butdotrytotakeitquietly。
Youdon’treallyneedmeanymore，andIcan’tbeartocomebacktoWragby。
I’mawfullysorry。Butdotrytoforgiveme，anddivorcemeandfindsomeonebetter。I’mnotreallytherightpersonforyou，Iamtooimpatientandselfish，Isuppose。ButIcan’tevercomebacktolivewithyouagain。
AndIfeelsofrightfullysorryaboutitall，foryoursake。Butifyoudon’tletyourselfgetworkedup，you’llseeyouwon’tmindsofrightfully。
Youdidn’treallycareaboutmepersonally。Sodoforgivemeandgetridofme。
Cliffordwasnotinwardlysurprisedtogetthisletter。Inwardly，hehadknownforalongtimeshewasleavinghim。Buthehadabsolutelyrefusedanyoutwardadmissionofit。Therefore，outwardly，itcameasthemostterribleblowandshocktohim，Hehadkeptthesurfaceofhisconfidenceinherquiteserene。
Andthatishowweare，Bystrengthofwillwecutoffourinnerintuitiveknowledgefromadmittedconsciousness。Thiscausesastateofdread，orapprehension，whichmakestheblowtentimesworsewhenitdoesfall。
Cliffordwaslikeahystericalchild。HegaveMrsBoltonaterribleshock，sittingupinbedghastlyandblank。
`Why，SirClifford，whatever’sthematter？’
Noanswer!Shewasterrifiedlesthehadhadastroke。Shehurriedandfelthisface，tookhispulse。
`Isthereapain？Dotryandtellmewhereithurtsyou。Dotellme!’
Noanswer!
`Ohdear，ohdear!ThenI’lltelephonetoSheffieldforDrCarrington，andDrLeckymayaswellrunroundstraightaway。’
Shewasmovingtothedoor，whenhesaidinahollowtone：
`No!’
Shestoppedandgazedathim。Hisfacewasyellow，blank，andlikethefaceofanidiot。
`Doyoumeanyou’dratherIdidn’tfetchthedoctor？’
`Yes!Idon’twanthim，’camethesepulchralvoice。
`Oh，butSirClifford，you’reill，andIdaren’ttaketheresponsibility。
Imustsendforthedoctor，orIshallbeblamed。’
Apause：thenthehollowvoicesaid：
`I’mnotill。Mywifeisn’tcomingback。’——Itwasasifanimagespoke。
`Notcomingback？youmeanherladyship？’MrsBoltonmovedalittlenearertothebed。`Oh，don’tyoubelieveit。Youcantrustherladyshiptocomeback。’
Theimageinthebeddidnotchange，butitpushedaletteroverthecounterpane。
`Readit!’saidthesepulchralvoice。
`Why，ifit’saletterfromherladyship，I’msureherladyshipwouldn’twantmetoreadherlettertoyou，SirClifford。Youcantellmewhatshesays，ifyouwish。’
`Readit!’repeatedthevoice。
`Why，ifImust，Idoittoobeyyou，SirClifford，’shesaid。Andshereadtheletter。
`Well，Iamsurprisedatherladyship，’shesaid。`Shepromisedsofaithfullyshe’dcomeback!’
Thefaceinthebedseemedtodeepenitsexpressionofwild，butmotionlessdistraction。MrsBoltonlookedatitandwasworried。Sheknewwhatshewasupagainst：malehysteria。Shehadnotnursedsoldierswithoutlearningsomethingaboutthatveryunpleasantdisease。
ShewasalittleimpatientofSirClifford。Anymaninhissensesmusthaveknownhiswifewasinlovewithsomebodyelse，andwasgoingtoleavehim。Even，shewassure，SirCliffordwasinwardlyabsolutelyawareofit，onlyhewouldn’tadmitittohimself。Ifhewouldhaveadmittedit，andpreparedhimselfforit：orifhewouldhaveadmittedit，andactivelystruggledwithhiswifeagainstit：thatwouldhavebeenactinglikeaman。Butno!heknewit，andallthetimetriedtokidhimselfitwasn’tso。Hefeltthedeviltwistinghistail，andpretendeditwastheangelssmilingonhim。Thisstateoffalsityhadnowbroughtonthatcrisisoffalsityanddislocation，hysteria，whichisaformofinsanity。`Itcomes’，shethoughttoherself，hatinghimalittle，`becausehealwaysthinksofhimself。He’ssowrappedupinhisownimmortalself，thatwhenhedoesgetashockhe’slikeamummytangledinitsownbandages。Lookathim!’
Buthysteriaisdangerous：andshewasanurse，itwasherdutytopullhimout。Anyattempttorousehismanhoodandhispridewouldonlymakehimworse：forhismanhoodwasdead，temporarilyifnotfinally。Hewouldonlysquirmsofterandsofter，likeaworm，andbecomemoredislocated。
Theonlythingwastoreleasehisself-pity。LiketheladyinTennyson，hemustweeporhemustdie。
SoMrsBoltonbegantoweepfirst。Shecoveredherfacewithherhandandburstintolittlewildsobs。`Iwouldneverhavebelieveditofherladyship，Iwouldn’t!’shewept，suddenlysummoningupallheroldgriefandsenseofwoe，andweepingthetearsofherownbitterchagrin。Onceshestarted，herweepingwasgenuineenough，forshehadhadsomethingtoweepfor。
CliffordthoughtofthewayhehadbeenbetrayedbythewomanConnie，andinacontagionofgrief，tearsfilledhiseyesandbegantorundownhischeeks。Hewasweepingforhimself。MrsBolton，assoonasshesawthetearsrunningoverhisblankface，hastilywipedherownwetcheeksonherlittlehandkerchief，andleanedtowardshim。
`Now，don’tyoufret，SirClifford!’shesaid，inaluxuryofemotion。
`Now，don’tyoufret，don’t，you’llonlydoyourselfaninjury!’
Hisbodyshiveredsuddenlyinanindrawnbreathofsilentsobbing，andthetearsranquickerdownhisface。Shelaidherhandonhisarm，andherowntearsfellagain。Againtheshiverwentthroughhim，likeaconvulsion，andshelaidherarmroundhisshoulder。`There，there!There，there!Don’tyoufret，then，don’tyou!Don’tyoufret!’shemoanedtohim，whileherowntearsfell。Andshedrewhimtoher，andheldherarmsroundhisgreatshoulders，whilehelaidhisfaceonherbosomandsobbed，shakingandhulkinghishugeshoulders，whilstshesoftlystrokedhisdusky-blondhairandsaid：`There!There!There!Therethen!Therethen!Neveryoumind!
Neveryoumind，then!’
Andheputhisarmsroundherandclungtoherlikeachild，wettingthebibofherstarchedwhiteapron，andthebosomofherpale-bluecottondress，withhistears。Hehadlethimselfgoaltogether，atlast。
Soatlengthshekissedhim，androckedhimonherbosom，andinherheartshesaidtoherself：`Oh，SirClifford!Oh，highandmightyChatterleys!
Isthiswhatyou’vecomedownto!’Andfinallyheevenwenttosleep，likeachild。Andshefeltwornout，andwenttoherownroom，whereshelaughedandcriedatonce，withahysteriaofherown。Itwassoridiculous!Itwassoawful!Suchacome-down!Soshameful!Anditwassoupsettingaswell。
Afterthis，CliffordbecamelikeachildwithMrsBolton。Hewouldholdherh，andresthisheadonherbreast，andwhensheoncelightlykissedhim，hesaid!`Yes!Dokissme!Dokissme!’Andwhenshespongedhisgreatblondbody，hewouldsaythesame!`Dokissme!’andshewouldlightlykisshisbody，anywhere，halfinmockery。
Andhelaywithaqueer，blankfacelikeachild，withabitofthewondermentofachild。Andhewouldgazeonherwithwide，childisheyes，inarelaxationofmadonna-worship。Itwassheerrelaxationonhispart，lettinggoallhismanhood，andsinkingbacktoachildishpositionthatwasreallyperverse。Andthenhewouldputhishandintoherbosomandfeelherbreasts，andkisstheminexultation，theexultationofperversity，ofbeingachildwhenhewasaman。
MrsBoltonwasboththrilledandashamed，shebothlovedandhatedit。
Yetsheneverrebuffednorrebukedhim。Andtheydrewintoacloserphysicalintimacy，anintimacyofperversity，whenhewasachildstrickenwithanapparentcandourandanapparentwonderment，thatlookedalmostlikeareligiousexaltation：theperverseandliteralrenderingof：`exceptyebecomeagainasalittlechild’——WhileshewastheMagnaMater，fullofpowerandpotency，havingthegreatblondchild-manunderherwillandherstrokeentirely。
Thecuriousthingwasthatwhenthischild-man，whichCliffordwasnowandwhichhehadbeenbecomingforyears，emergedintotheworld，itwasmuchsharperandkeenerthantherealmanheusedtobe。Thispervertedchild-manwasnowarealbusiness-man；whenitwasaquestionofaffairs，hewasanabsolutehe-man，sharpasaneedle，andimperviousasabitofsteel。Whenhewasoutamongmen，seekinghisownends，and`makinggood’hiscollieryworkings，hehadanalmostuncannyshrewdness，hardness，andastraightsharppunch。ItwasasifhisverypassivityandprostitutiontotheMagnaMatergavehiminsightintomaterialbusinessaffairs，andlenthimacertainremarkableinhumanforce。Thewallowinginprivateemotion，theutterabasementofhismanlyself，seemedtolendhimasecondnature，cold，almostvisionary，business-clever。Inbusinesshewasquiteinhuman。
AndinthisMrsBoltontriumphed。`Howhe’sgettingon!’shewouldsaytoherselfinpride。`Andthat’smydoing!Myword，he’dneverhavegotonlikethiswithLadyChatterley。Shewasnottheonetoputamanforward。
Shewantedtoomuchforherself。’
Atthesametime，insomecornerofherweirdfemalesoul，howshedespisedhimandhatedhim!Hewastoherthefallenbeast，thesquirmingmonster。
Andwhilesheaidedandabettedhimallshecould，awayintheremotestcornerofherancienthealthywomanhoodshedespisedhimwithasavagecontemptthatknewnobounds。Themeresttrampwasbetterthanhe。
HisbehaviourwithregardtoConniewascurious。Heinsistedonseeingheragain。Heinsisted，moreover，onhercomingtoWragby。Onthispointhewasfinallyandabsolutelyfixed。ConniehadpromisedtocomebacktoWragby，faithfully。