‘There may be. Why?’

‘I happened to find it today—and I’d never seen it before. I think it’s a darling place. I could sit there sometimes, couldn’t I?’

‘Was Mellors there?’

‘Yes! That’s how I found it: his hammering. He didn’t seem to like my intruding at all. In fact he was almost rude when I asked about a second key.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Oh, nothing: just his manner; and he said he knew nothing about keys.’

‘There may be one in Father’s study. Betts knows them all, they’re all there. I’ll get him to look.’

‘Oh do!’ she said.

‘So Mellors was almost rude?’

‘Oh, nothing, really! But I don’t think he wanted me to have the freedom of the castle, quite.’

‘I don’t suppose he did.’

‘Still, I don’t see why he should mind. It’s not his home, after all! It’s not his private abode. I don’t see why I shouldn’t sit there if I want to.’

‘Quite!’ said Clifford. ‘He thinks too much of himself, that man.’

‘Do you think he does?’

‘Oh, decidedly! He thinks he’s something exceptional. You know he had a wife he didn’t get on with, so he joined up in 1915 and was sent to India, I believe. Anyhow he was blacksmith to the cavalry in Egypt for a time; always was connected with horses, a clever fellow that way. Then some Indian colonel took a fancy to him, and he was made a lieutenant. Yes, they gave him a commission. I believe he went back to India with his colonel, and up to the north–west frontier. He was ill; he was a pension. He didn’t come out of the army till last year, I believe, and then, naturally, it isn’t easy for a man like that to get back to his own level. He’s bound to flounder. But he does his duty all right, as far as I’m concerned. Only I’m not having any of the Lieutenant Mellors touch.’

‘How could they make him an officer when he speaks broad Derbyshire?’

‘He doesn’t...except by fits and starts. He can speak perfectly well, for him. I suppose he has an idea if he’s come down to the ranks again, he’d better speak as the ranks speak.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me about him before?’

‘Oh, I’ve no patience with these romances. They’re the ruin of all order. It’s a thousand pities they ever happened.’

Connie was inclined to agree. What was the good of discontented people who fitted in nowhere?

In the spell of fine weather Clifford, too, decided to go to the wood. The wind was cold, but not so tiresome, and the sunshine was like life itself, warm and full.

‘It’s amazing,’ said Connie, ‘how different one feels when there’s a really fresh fine day. Usually one feels the very air is half dead. People are killing the very air.’