“I hope you’ll be happy, but don’t hurry it; get to know each other’s natures well, and all that. And if you find you can’t agree about anything that’s vital to happiness, then part before it’s too late,” said her friend. “It isn’t given to every girl to do what I did, Daisy. You want a rare lot of courage, and the power to rise superior to the world against you.” “He agrees with me in everything,” said Daisy. “They always begin like that. But I feel you’re going to be one of the happy ones.” “And you, too, I hope soon.” “There are greater things than happiness, I find,” confessed Medora, “though like all young creatures, I used to put happiness first and last. But if you’ve got much in the way of brains, you can’t be happy for long. Jordan very soon learned me that.” “Surely to God he’s going to make you happy?” asked Daisy. “Oh, yes, but it’s the happiness of people at large he’s out for. He’s got a great mind and thinks in numbers, not in individuals, even though one of them’s his wife. That may sound sad to you.” “It do,” said Daisy. “But it isn’t really. It makes you forget yourself—in time. I shall rise to it as I age, and I’m ageing fast.” “I don’t want to forget myself,” said Daisy, “and I’m sure Mr. Spry wouldn’t let me if I did. He’s death on spoiling me.” “Be happy while you can,” advised Medora. “And bring your young man to supper one night.” They talked of the works, for despite the larger interests of Kellock, Medora still found the politics of the Mill her chief subject. “Do you think they’d be nasty if I was to go in one day on some pretence and see ’em?” she asked. Daisy considered. “You’d be welcome for your mother’s sake in the rag house,” she answered; “but I wouldn’t go in your own shop, if I was you. I dare say it’s jealousy, but the women in the glazing shop—it’s old Pinhey’s fault largely, I believe. He’s a religious old devil.” “For some things I’d almost like to be back again,” declared Medora. “Just for the minute, till we’ve got a house and so on, I’m at a loose end. I do a lot of writing for Jordan, and he finds me very useful, and is going to get me a typewriter. But just for the minute—it would distract my mind. There’s nothing small about Mr. Trenchard—he’d let me come back, I reckon.” Daisy did not venture an opinion, and the talk returned to Harold Spry. But from that day, Medora’s determination to go into the works increased. She did not tell Jordan, suspecting that he would have forbidden such an experiment, nor did she mention the matter to her mother; but she decided that she would stroll in some day. Ned Dingle had not yet left Dene, and once she passed him returning home from Totnes. He took no notice of her, and she hesitated whether to speak, but perceived that he desired no such thing, for he hurried past. She stole one glance under her eyelids at him, and thought he looked much as usual. He stared straight in front of him, and blushed as he passed her.