'Here we are!'she said softly.
But Hilda had switched off the lights,and was absorbed backing,****** the turn.
'Nothing on the bridge?'she asked shortly.'You're all right,'said the mall's voice.She backed on to the bridge,reversed,let the car run forwards a few yards along the road,then backed into the lane,under a wych-elm tree,crushing the grass and bracken.Then all the lights went out.Connie stepped down.The man stood under the trees.
'Did you wait long?'Connie asked.
'Not so very,'he replied.
They both waited for Hilda to get out.But Hilda shut the door of the car and sat tight.
'This is my sister Hilda.Won't you come and speak to her?Hilda!This is Mr Mellors.'
The keeper lifted his hat,but went no nearer.
'Do walk down to the cottage with us,Hilda,'Connie pleaded.'It's not far.'
'What about the car?'
'People do leave them on the lanes.You have the key.'
Hilda was silent,deliberating.Then she looked backwards down the lane.
'Can I back round the bush?'she said.
'Oh yes!'said the keeper.
She backed slowly round the curve,out of sight of the road,locked the car,and got down.It was night,but luminous dark.The hedges rose high and wild,by the unused lane,and very dark seeming.There was a fresh sweet scent on the air.The keeper went ahead,then came Connie,then Hilda,and in silence.He lit up the difficult places with a flash-light torch,and they went on again,while an owl softly hooted over the oaks,and Flossie padded silently around.Nobody could speak.There was nothing to say.
At length Connie saw the yellow light of the house,and her heart beat fast.She was a little frightened.They trailed on,still in Indian file.
He unlocked the door and preceded them into the warm but bare little room.The fire burned low and red in the grate.The table was set with two plates and two glasses on a proper white table-cloth for Once.Hilda shook her hair and looked round the bare,cheerless room.Then she summoned her courage and looked at the man.
He was moderately tall,and thin,and she thought him good-looking.
He kept a quiet distance of his own,and seemed absolutely unwilling to speak.
'Do sit down,Hilda,'said Connie.
'Do!'he said.'Can I make you tea or anything,or will you drink a glass of beer?It's moderately cool.'
'Beer!'said Connie.
'Beer for me,please!'said Hilda,with a mock sort of shyness.He looked at her and blinked.
He took a blue jug and tramped to the scullery.When he came back with the beer,his face had changed again.
Connie sat down by the door,and Hilda sat in his seat,with the back to the wall,against the window corner.
'That is his chair,'said Connie softly.'And Hilda rose as if it had burnt her.
'Sit yer still,sit yer still!Ta'e ony cheer as yo'n a mind to,none of us is th'big bear,'he said,with complete equanimity.
And he brought Hilda a glass,and poured her beer first from the blue jug.
'As for cigarettes,'he said,'I've got none,but 'appen you've got your own.I dunna smoke,mysen.Shall y'eat summat?'He turned direct to Connie.'Shall t'eat a smite o'summat,if I bring it thee?Tha can usually do wi'a bite.'He spoke the vernacular with a curious calm assurance,as if he were the landlord of the Inn.
'What is there?'asked Connie,flushing.
'Boiled ham,cheese,pickled wa'nuts,if yer like.--Nowt much.'
'Yes,'said Connie.'Won't you,Hilda?'
Hilda looked up at him.
'Why do you speak Yorkshire?'she said softly.
'That!That's non Yorkshire,that's Derby.'
He looked back at her with that faint,distant grin.
'Derby,then!Why do you speak Derby?You spoke natural English at first.'
'Did Ah though?An'canna Ah change if Ah'm a mind to 't?Nay,nay,let me talk Derby if it suits me.If yo'n nowt against it.'
'It sounds a little affected,'said Hilda.
'Ay,'appen so!An'up i'Tevershall yo'd sound affected.'He looked again at her,with a queer calculating distance,along his cheek-bone:
as if to say:Yi,an'who are you?
He tramped away to the pantry for the food.
The sisters sat in silence.He brought another plate,and knife and fork.The he said:
'An'if it's the same to you,I s'll ta'e my coat off like I allers do.'
And he took off his coat,and hung it on the peg,then sat down to table in his shirt-sleeves:a shirt of thin,cream-coloured flannel.
''Elp yerselves!'he said.''Elp yerselves!Dunna wait f'r axin'!'He cut the bread,then sat motionless.Hilda felt,as Connie once used to,his power of silence and distance.She saw his smallish,sensitive,loose hand on the table.He was no ****** working man,not he:he was acting!
acting!
'Still!'she said,as she took a little cheese.'It would be more natural if you spoke to us in normal English,not in vernacular.'
He looked at her,feeling her devil of a will.
'Would it?'he said in the normal English.'Would it?Would anything that was said between you and me be quite natural,unless you said you wished me to hell before your sister ever saw me again:and unless I said something almost as unpleasant back again?Would anything else be natural?'
'Oh yes!'said Hilda.'Just good manners would be quite natural.'
'Second nature,so to speak!'he said:then he began to laugh.'Nay,'
he said.'I'm weary o'manners.Let me be!'
Hilda was frankly baffled and furiously annoyed.After all,he might show that he realized he was being honoured.Instead of which,with his play-acting and lordly airs,he seemed to think it was he who was conferring the honour.Just impudence!Poor misguided Connie,in the man's clutches!
The three ate in silence.Hilda looked to see what his table-manners were like.She could not help realizing that he was instinctively much more delicate and well-bred than herself.She had a certain Scottish clumsiness.
And moreover,he had all the quiet self-contained assurance of the English,no loose edges.It would be very difficult to get the better of him.
But neither would he get the better of her.
'And do you really think,'she said,a little more humanly,'it's worth the risk.'
'Is what worth what risk?'
'This escapade with my sister.'
