of that sex business, where men became nasty, selfish little horrors. Connie really had less to put up with than many women, if she did but know it.
And Clifford decided that Hilda, after all, was a decidedly intelligent woman, and would make a man a first-rate helpmeet, if he were going in for politics for example. Yes, she had none of Connie's silliness, Connie was more a child: you had to make excuses for her, because she was not altogether dependable.
There was an early cup of tea in the hall, where doors were open to let in the sun. Everybody seemed to be panting a little.
"Good-bye, Connie girl! Come back to me safely."
"Good-bye, Clifford! Yes, I shan't be long." Connie was almost tender.
"Good-bye, Hilda! You will keep an eye on her, won't you?"
"I'll even keep two!" said Hilda. "She shan't go very far astray."
"It's a promise!"
"Good-bye, Mrs. Bolton! I know you'll look after Sir Clifford nobly."
"I'll do what I can, your Ladyship."
"And write to me if there is any news, and tell me about Sir Clifford, how he is."
"Very good, your Ladyship, I will. And have a good time, and come back and cheer us up."
Everybody waved. The car went off. Connie looked back and saw Clifford sitting at the top of the steps in his house-chair. After all, he was her husband: Wragby was her home: circumstance had done it.
Mrs. Chambers held the gate and wished her ladyship a happy holiday. The car slipped out of the dark spinney that masked the park, on to the highroad where the colliers were trailing home. Hilda turned to the Crosshill Road, that was not a main road, but ran to Mansfield. Connie put on goggles. They ran beside the railway, which was in a cutting below them. Then they crossed the cutting on a bridge.
"That's the lane to the cottage!" said Connie.
Hilda glanced at it impatiently.
"It's a frightful pity we can't go straight off!" she said. "We could have been in Pall Mall by nine o'clock."
"I'm sorry for your sake," said Connie, from behind her goggles.
