Jordan dwelt upon a word that Mrs. Trivett had spoken. “You say ‘the mischief is done,’ but I can’t allow that. No mischief is done at all—far from it. The mischief would have been if Medora and her husband had been bound to stop together—chained together against all their proper feelings and against all decency. But for them to separate like responsible beings was no mischief.” “And it’s up to him to get on with it,” added Medora. “We’ve done our share and took the law in our hands, because we were fearless and knew we were right; and more we can’t do until he acts.” “Has he moved in the matter, Mrs. Trivett?” enquired Kellock. “I can supply his lawyer with the necessary data.” Lydia flushed. “No; he’s done nothing to my knowledge. He’s got to think of himself and his future work.” “He’ll be reasonable I’m sure. The world being what it is—a very critical place—I’m exceedingly jealous for Medora’s good name.” “In common decency and duty I should think he ought to feel the same,” said Medora. “He can’t martyr me no more and the least he can do is to set me free the first moment possible. He’s took ten years off my life and my looks; and that’s about enough.” “No, he hasn’t,” returned her mother. “You’re looking a lot better than you deserve to look, and as to decency and duty, there’s nobody here will come to you to learn about either. You’re no more a martyr than anybody else. Ned’s the martyr, and it ill becomes you to talk of him in that hateful tone of voice.” Kellock was much pained and Medora began to cry. “I do implore you—I do implore you, Mrs. Trivett, to think about this subject on a lofty plane. God’s my judge I have taken as high a line about this as I knew how to take. We’ve looked at it in a religious spirit and had every respect for our own characters and every respect for Mr. Dingle. That’s the truth about it. I don’t want to preach or explain how we saw our duty, because in your present biased frame of mind, you wouldn’t believe me; but I may say that Medora is a sacred object in my eyes—just as sacred as anybody else’s property is sacred—and I’d no more treat her with less reverence and honour than I always did before and after she married, than I’d treat any other woman. I’m not going to do anything on which I could look back with a sigh, or her with a blush. We’re not that sort by any means.” “I should hope not,” murmured Medora. “We’re a lot too proud to explain ourselves to such people as live here; we move on a higher walk of conscience than what they do, but all I know is that Jordan’s a saint and they’re not worthy to black his boots or tie the laces.” Through tears she spoke. “No, I’m not a saint; but I’m a reasonable man and know what’s due to my reputation and my peace of mind,” declared Mr. Kellock, “and knowing that, I abide by it and don’t risk losing the only thing that matters, and don’t put myself in such a position that Medora shall ever think less of me than she does now.”