"A poacher, your Ladyship," said the man satirically.
She glanced at him angrily. "No wonder the child cried," she said, "if you shot it when she was there. No wonder she cried!"
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!"
"Come then, shall I take you? Shall I take you to your Gran? Then your Daddy can do what he has to do." She turned to the man. "It is your little girl, isn't it?"
He saluted, and made a slight movement of the head in affirmation.
"I suppose I can take her to the cottage?" asked Connie.
"If your Ladyship wishes."
Again he looked into her eyes, with that calm, searching detached glance. A man very much alone, and on his own.
"Would you like to come with me to the cottage, to your Gran, dear?"
The child peeped up again. "Yes!" she simpered.
Connie disliked her; the spoilt, false little female. Nevertheless she wiped her face, and took her hand. The keeper saluted in silence.
"Good morning!" said Connie.
It was nearly a mile to the cottage, and Connie senior was well bored by Connie junior by the time the gamekeeper's picturesque
