But if Mrs Flint took no trouble,where was the fun!So Connie played with the child and was amused by its little female dauntlessness,and got a deep voluptuous pleasure out of its soft young warmth.Young life!And so fearless!So fearless,because so defenceless.All the other people,so narrow with fear!
She had a cup of tea,which was rather strong,and very good bread and butter,and bottled damsons.Mrs Flint flushed and glowed and bridled with excitement,as if Connie were some gallant knight.And they had a real female chat,and both of them enjoyed it.
'It's a poor little tea,though,'said Mrs Flint.
'It's much nicer than at home,'said Connie truthfully.
'Oh-h!'said Mrs Flint,not believing,of course.
But at last Connie rose.
'I must go,'she said.'My husband has no idea where I am.He'll be wondering all kinds of things.'
'He'll never think you're here,'laughed Mrs Flint excitedly.'He'll be sending the crier round.'
'Goodbye,Josephine,'said Connie,kissing the baby and ruffling its red,wispy hair.
Mrs Flint insisted on opening the locked and barred front door.Connie emerged in the farm's little front garden,shut in by a privet hedge.There were two rows of auriculas by the path,very velvety and rich.
'Lovely auriculas,'said Connie.
'Recklesses,as Luke calls them,'laughed Mrs Flint.'Have some.'
And eagerly she picked the velvet and primrose flowers.
'Enough!Enough!'said Connie.
They came to the little garden gate.
'Which way were you going?'asked Mrs Flint.
'By the Warren.'
'Let me see!Oh yes,the cows are in the gin close.But they're not up yet.But the gate's locked,you'll have to climb.'
'I can climb,'said Connie.
'Perhaps I can just go down the close with you.'
They went down the poor,rabbit-bitten pasture.Birds were whistling in wild evening triumph in the wood.A man was calling up the last cows,which trailed slowly over the path-worn pasture.
'They're late,milking,tonight,'said Mrs Flint severely.'They know Luke won't be back till after dark.'
They came to the fence,beyond which the young fir-wood bristled dense.
There was a little gate,but it was locked.In the grass on the inside stood a bottle,empty.
'There's the keeper's empty bottle for his milk,'explained Mrs Flint.
'We bring it as far as here for him,and then he fetches it himself.'
'When?'said Connie.
'Oh,any time he's around.Often in the morning.Well,goodbye Lady Chatterley!And do come again.It was so lovely having you.'
Connie climbed the fence into the narrow path between the dense,bristling young firs.Mrs Flint went running back across the pasture,in a sun-bonnet,because she was really a schoolteacher.Constance didn't like this dense new part of the wood;it seemed gruesome and choking.She hurried on with her head down,thinking of the Flints'baby.It was a dear little thing,but it would be a bit bow-legged like its father.It showed already,but perhaps it would grow out of it.How warm and fulfilling somehow to have a baby,and how Mrs Flint had showed it off!She had something anyhow that Connie hadn't got,and apparently couldn't have.Yes,Mrs Flint had flaunted her motherhood.And Connie had been just a bit,just a little bit jealous.
She couldn't help it.
She started out of her muse,and gave a little cry of fear.A man was there.
It was the keeper.He stood in the path like Balaam's ass,barring her way.
'How's this?'he said in surprise.
'How did you come?'she panted.
'How did you?Have you been to the hut?'
'No!No!I went to Marehay.'
He looked at her curiously,searchingly,and she hung her head a little guiltily.
'And were you going to the hut now?'he asked rather sternly.'No!Imustn't.I stayed at Marehay.No one knows where I am.I'm late.I've got to run.'
'Giving me the slip,like?'he said,with a faint ironic smile.'No!
No.Not that.Only--'
'Why,what else?'he said.And he stepped up to her and put his arms around her.She felt the front of his body terribly near to her,and alive.
'Oh,not now,not now,'she cried,trying to push him away.
'Why not?It's only six o'clock.You've got half an hour.Nay!Nay!
I want you.'
He held her fast and she felt his urgency.Her old instinct was to fight for her freedom.But something else in her was strange and inert and heavy.
His body was urgent against her,and she hadn't the heart any more to fight.
He looked around.
'Come--come here!Through here,'he said,looking penetratingly into the dense fir-trees,that were young and not more than half-grown.
He looked back at her.She saw his eyes,tense and brilliant,fierce,not loving.But her will had left her.A strange weight was on her limbs.
She was giving way.She was giving up.
He led her through the wall of prickly trees,that were difficult to come through,to a place where was a little space and a pile of dead boughs.
He threw one or two dry ones down,put his coat and waistcoat over them,and she had to lie down there under the boughs of the tree,like an animal,while he waited,standing there in his shirt and breeches,watching her with haunted eyes.But still he was provident--he made her lie properly,properly.Yet he broke the band of her underclothes,for she did not help him,only lay inert.
He too had bared the front part of his body and she felt his naked flesh against her as he came into her.For a moment he was still inside her,turgid there and quivering.Then as he began to move,in the sudden helpless orgasm,there awoke in her new strange thrills rippling inside her.Rippling,rippling,rippling,like a flapping overlapping of soft flames,soft as feathers,running to points of brilliance,exquisite,exquisite and melting her all molten inside.It was like bells rippling up and up to a culmination.
She lay unconscious of the wild little cries she uttered at the last.But it was over too soon,too soon,and she could no longer force her own conclusion with her own activity.This was different,different.She could do nothing.
She could no longer harden and grip for her own satisfaction upon him.