“I suppose nobody.”
He looked at her with curious cold rage. He was used to her. She was as it were embedded in his will. How dared she now go back on him, and destroy the fabric of his daily existence? How dared she try to cause this derangement of his personality!
“And for what do you want to go back on everything?” he insisted.
“Love!” she said. It is best to be hackneyed.
“Love of Duncan Forbes? But you didn’t think that worth having, when you met me. Do you mean to say you now love him better than anything else in life?”
“One changes,” she said.
“Possibly! Possibly you may have whims. But you still have to convince me of the importance of the change. I merely don’t believe in your love of Duncan Forbes.”
“But why should you believe in it? You have only to divorce me, not to believe in my feelings.”
“And why should I divorce you?”
“Because I don’t want to live here any more. And you really don’t want me.”
“Pardon me! I don’t change. For my part, since you are my wife, I should prefer that you should stay under my roof in dignity and quiet. Leaving aside personal feelings, and I assure you, on my part it is leaving aside a great deal, it is bitter as death to me to have this order of life broken up, here in Wragby, and the decent round of daily life smashed, just for some whim of yours.”
After a time of silence she said:
“I can’t help it. I’ve got to go. I expect I shall have a child.” He too was silent for a time.
“And is it for the child’s sake you must go?” he asked at length.
She nodded.
“And why? Is Duncan Forbes so keen on his spawn?”
“Surely keener than you would be,” she said.
“But really? I want my wife, and I see no reason for letting her go. If she likes to bear a child under my roof, she is welcome, and the child is welcome: provided that the decency and order of life is preserved. Do you mean to tell me that Duncan Forbes has a greater hold over you? I don’t believe it.”
There was a pause.
“But don’t you see,” said Connie. “I must go away from you, and I must live with the man I love.”
“No, I don’t see it! I don’t give tuppence for your love, nor for the man you love. I don’t believe in that sort of cant.”
“But you see, I do.”
“Do you? My dear Madam, you are too intelligent, I assure you, to believe in your own love for Duncan Forbes. Believe me, even now you really care more for me. So why should I give in to such nonsense!”
She felt he was right there. And she felt she could keep silent no longer.
“Because it isn’t Duncan that I do love,” she said, looking up at him. “We only said it was Duncan, to spare your feelings.”
“To spare my feelings?”
“Yes! Because who I really love, and it’ll make you hate me, is Mr. Mellors, who was our gamekeeper here.”
If he could have sprung out of his chair, he would have done so. His face went yellow, and his eyes bulged with disaster as he glared at her.
Then he dropped back in the chair, gasping and looking up at the ceiling.
At length he sat up.
“Do you mean to say you’re telling me the truth?” he asked, looking gruesome.
“Yes! You know I am.”
“And when did you begin with him?”
“In the spring.”
He was silent like some beast in a trap.
“And it was you, then, in the bedroom at the cottage?”
So he had really inwardly known all the time.
“Yes!”
He still leaned forward in his chair, gazing at her like a cornered beast.
“My God, you ought to be wiped off the face of the earth!”
“Why?” she ejaculated faintly.
But he seemed not to hear her.
“That scum! That bumptious lout! That miserable cad! And carrying on with him all the time, while you were here and he was one of my servants! My God, my God, is there any end to the beastly lowness of women!”
He was beside himself with rage, as she knew he would be.
“And you mean to say you want to have a child to a cad like that?”
“Yes! I’m going to.”
“You’re going to! You mean you’re sure! How long have you been sure?”
“Since June.”
He was speechless, and the queer blank look of a child came over him again.
“You’d wonder,” he said at last, “that such beings were ever allowed to be born.”
“What beings?” she asked.
He looked at her weirdly, without an answer. It was obvious he couldn’t even accept the fact of the existence of Mellors, in any connection with his own life. It was sheer, unspeakable, impotent hate.
“And do you mean to say you’d marry him?—and bear his foul name?” he asked at length.
“Yes, that’s what I want.”
He was again as if dumbfounded.
“Yes!” he said at last. “That proves that what I’ve always thought about you is correct: you’re not normal, you’re not in your right senses. You’re one of those half-insane, perverted women who must run after depravity, the nostalgie de la boue.”
Suddenly he had become almost wistfully moral, seeing himself the incarnation of good, and people like Mellors and Connie the incarnation of mud, of evil. He seemed to be growing vague, inside a nimbus.
“So don’t you think you’d better divorce me and have done with it?” she said.
“No! You can go where you like, but I shan’t divorce you,” he said idiotically.
“Why not?”
He was silent, in the silence of imbecile obstinacy.
“Would you even let the child be legally yours, and your heir?” she said.
“I care nothing about the child.”
“But if it’s a boy it will be legally your son, and it will inherit your title, and have Wragby.”
“I care nothing about that,” he said.
“But you must! I shall prevent the child from being legally yours, if I can. I’d so much rather it were illegitimate, and mine: if it can’t be Mellors’.”
“Do as you
