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Lady Chatterley's Lover

Chapter 12
Connie went to the wood directly after lunch. It was really a lovely day, the first
dandelions making suns, the first daisies so white. The hazel thicket was a lace-
work, of half-open leaves, and the last dusty perpendicular of the catkins. Yellow
celandines now were in crowds, flat open, pressed back in urgency, and the
yellow glitter of themselves. It was the yellow, the powerful yellow of early
summer. And primroses were broad, and full of pale abandon, thick-clustered
primroses no longer shy. The lush, dark green of hyacinths was a sea, with buds
rising like pale corn, while in the riding the forget-me-nots were fluffing up, and
columbines were unfolding their ink-purple ruches, and there were bits of blue
bird's eggshell under a bush. Everywhere the bud-knots and the leap of life!
The keeper was not at the hut. Everything was serene, brown chickens running
lustily. Connie walked on towards the cottage, because she wanted to find him.
The cottage stood in the sun, off the wood's edge. In the little garden the double
daffodils rose in tufts, near the wide-open door, and red double daisies made a
border to the path. There was the bark of a dog, and Flossie came running.
The wide-open door! so he was at home. And the sunlight falling on the red-brick
floor! As she went up the path, she saw him through the window, sitting at the
table in his shirt-sleeves, eating. The dog wuffed softly, slowly wagging her tail.
He rose, and came to the door, wiping his mouth with a red handkerchief still
chewing.
"May I come in?" she said.
"Come in!"
The sun shone into the bare room, which still smelled of a mutton chop, done in a
dutch oven before the fire, because the dutch oven still stood on the fender, with
the black potato-saucepan on a piece of paper, beside it on the white hearth. The
fire was red, rather low, the bar dropped, the kettle singing.
On the table was his plate, with potatoes and the remains of the chop; also bread
in a basket, salt, and a blue mug with beer. The table-cloth was white oil-cloth, he
stood in the shade.
"You are very late," she said. "Do go on eating!"
She sat down on a wooden chair, in the sunlight by the door.
"I had to go to Uthwaite,'" he said, sitting down at the table but not eating.
"Do eat," she said. But he did not touch the food.
"Shall y'ave something?" he asked her. "Shall y'ave a cup of tea? t' kettle's on t'
boil"---he half rose again from his chair.
"If you'll let me make it myself," she said, rising. He seemed sad, and she felt she
was bothering him.
"Well, tea-pot's in there"---he pointed to a little, drab corner cupboard; "an' cups.
An' tea's on t' mantel ower yer 'ead,"
She got the black tea-pot, and the tin of tea from the mantel-shelf. She rinsed the
tea-pot with hot water, and stood a moment wondering where to empty it.
"Throw it out," he said, aware of her. "It's clean."
 
 
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