He looked into Connie's eyes, laconic, contemptuous, not hiding his feelings. And again Connie flushed; she felt she had been making a scene, the man did not respect her.
"What is your name?" she said playfully to the child. "Won't you tell me your name?"
Sniffs; then very affectedly in a piping voice; "Connie Mellors!"
"Connie Mellors! Well, that's a nice name! And did you come out with your Daddy, and he shot a pussy? But it was a bad pussy!"
The child looked at her, with bold, dark eyes of scrutiny, sizing her up, and her condolence.
"I wanted to stop with my Gran," said the little girl.
"Did you? But where is your Gran?"
The child lifted an arm, pointing down the drive. "At th' cottidge."
"At the cottage! And would you like to go back to her?"
Sudden, shuddering quivers of reminiscent sobs. "Yes!"