Connie wore her goggles and disguising cap, and she sat in silence. Because of Hilda’s Opposition, she was fiercely on the sidle of the man, she would stand by him through thick and thin.

They had their head–lights on, by the time they passed Crosshill, and the small lit–up train that chuffed past in the cutting made it seem like real night. Hilda had calculated the turn into the lane at the bridge–end. She slowed up rather suddenly and swerved off the road, the lights glaring white into the grassy, overgrown lane. Connie looked out. She saw a shadowy figure, and she opened the door.

‘Here we are!’ she said softly.

But Hilda had switched off the lights, and was absorbed backing, making 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.