And they trailed off, dismally.
After coffee, Duncan said:
"I don't at all mind posing as the father of Connie's child. But only on the condition that she'll come and pose as a model for me. I've wanted her for years, and she's always refused." He uttered it with the dark finality of an inquisitor announcing an auto da fé.
"Ah!" said Mellors. "You only do it on condition, then?"
"Quite! I only do it on that condition." The artist tried to put the utmost contempt of the other person into his speech. He put a little too much.
"Better have me as a model at the same time," said Mellors. "Better do us in a group, Vulcan and Venus under the net of art. I used to be a blacksmith, before I was a gamekeeper."
"Thank you," said the artist. "I don't think Vulcan has a figure that interests me."
"Not even if it was tubified and titivated up?"
There was no answer. The artist was too haughty for further words.
It was a dismal party, in which the artist henceforth steadily ignored the presence of the other man, and talked only briefly, as if the words were wrung out of the depths of his gloomy portentousness, to the women.