The keeper strode up with his coat and gun, Flossie cautiously at his heels. Clifford asked the man to do something or other to the engine. Connie, who understood nothing at all of the technicalities of motors, and who had had experience of breakdowns, sat patiently on the bank as if she were a cipher. The keeper lay on his stomach again. The ruling classes and the serving classes!
He got to his feet and said patiently:
"Try her again, then."
He spoke in a quiet voice, almost as if to a child.
Clifford tried her, and Mellors stepped quickly behind and began to push. She was going, the engine doing about half the work, the man the rest.
Clifford glanced round yellow with anger.
"Will you get off there!"
The keeper dropped his hold at once, and Clifford added: "How shall I know what she is doing!"
The man put his gun down and began to pull on his coat. He'd done.
The chair began slowly to run backwards.