Mrs. Quiggin had begun to speak in a voice that was something between a shrill laugh and a cry, and she ended with a smothered gurgle, such as comes from the throat of a pea-hen. After breakfast Peggy Quine came chirping around with a hundred inquiries about the packing of luggage which was then proceeding, with a view to the carriage that had been ordered for eleven o’clock. Mrs. Quiggin betrayed only the most languid interest in these hurrying operations, and settled herself with her needlework in a chair near to Jenny Crow. Jenny watched her, and thought, “Now, wouldn’t she jump at a good excuse for not going at all?” Presently Mrs. Quiggin said, in a tone of well-acted unconcern, “And so you say that the poor man you tell me of is still loving his wife in spite of all she has done to him?” “Yes, Nelly. All men are like that--more fools they,” said Jenny. Nelly’s face brightened over the needles in her hand, and her parted lips seemed to whisper, “Bless them!” But in a note of delicious insincerity she only said aloud, “Not all, Jenny; surely not all.” “Yes, all,” said Jenny, with emphasis. “Do you think I don’t know the men better than you do?” Nelly dropped her needles and raised her face. “Why, Jenny,” she said, “however can that be?--you’ve never even been married.” “That’s why, my dear,” said Jenny. Nelly laughed; then returning to the attack, she said, with a poor pretense at a yawn, “So you think a man may love a woman even after--after she has turned him out of doors, as you say?” “Yes, but that isn’t to say that he’ll ever come back to her,” said Jenny. The needles dropped to the lap again. “No? Why shouldn’t he then?” “Why? Because men are never good at the bended knee business,” said Jenny. “A man on his knees is ridiculous. It must be his legs that look so silly. If I had done anything to a man, and he went down on his knees to me, I would----” “What, Jenny?” Jenny lifted her skirt an inch or two, and showed a dainty foot swinging to and fro. “Kick him,” she answered. Nelly laughed again, and said, “And if you were a man, and a woman did so, what then?” “Why lift her up and kiss her, and forgive her, of course,” said Jenny. Nelly tingled with delight, and burned to ask Jenny if she should not at least let Captain Davy know that she was leaving Douglas and going home. But being a true woman, she asked something else instead. “So you think, Jenny,” she said, “that your poor friend will never go back to his wife?” “I’m sure he won’t,” said Jenny. “Didn’t I tell you?” she added, straightening up. “What?” said Nelly, with a quiver of alarm. “That he’s going back to sea,” said Jenny. “To sea!” cried Nelly, dropping her needles entirely. “Back to sea?” she said, in a shrill voice. “And without even saying ‘good-by!’” “Good-by to whom, my dear?” said Jenny. “To me?” “To his wife, of course,” said Nelly, huskily. “Well, we don’t know that, do we?” said Jenny. “And, besides, why should he?”