"He was a collier's son in Tevershall. But he's absolutely presentable."
The knighted artist became more angry.
"Looks to me like a gold-digger," he said. "And you're a pretty easy gold-mine, apparently."
"No, Father, it's not like that. You'd know if you saw him. He's a man. Clifford always detested him for not being humble."
"Apparently he had a good instinct, for once."
What Sir Malcolm could not bear, was the scandal of his daughter's having an intrigue with a gamekeeper. He did not mind the intrigue: he minded the scandal.
"I care nothing about the fellow. He's evidently been able to get round you all right. But by God, think of all the talk. Think of your step-mother, how she'll take it!"
"I know," said Connie. "Talk is beastly: especially if you live in society. And he wants so much to get his own divorce. I thought we might perhaps say it was another man's child, and not mention Mellors' name at all."
"Another man's! What other man's?"
"Perhaps Duncan Forbes. He has been our friend all his life. And he's a fairly well-known artist. And he's fond of me."
"Well, I'm damned! Poor Duncan! And what's he going to get out of it?"
"I don't know. But he might rather like it, even."
"He might, might he? Well, he's a funny man, if he does. Why you've never even had an affair with him, have you?"
"No! But he doesn't really want it. He only loves me to be near him, but not to touch him."
"My God, what a generation!"
"He would like me most of all to be a model for him to paint from. Only I never wanted to."
"God help him! But he looks down-trodden enough for anything."
"Still, you wouldn't mind so much the talk about him?"
"My God, Connie, all the bloody contriving!"
"I know! It's sickening! But what can I do?"
"Contriving, conniving; conniving, contriving! Makes a man think he's lived too long."
