“You’re so large-minded and look at things with a male grasp and a male’s power of waiting,” she said, “but you can’t expect that from me. You must make allowances, Jordan. I suffer a lot more than you do, because I’ve got such a power of feeling and I’m cruel proud.” “I’m properly jealous for you,” he answered, “and I’d come between every breath of scandal and you if I could. But we must allow for human nature and prejudice.” “And jealousy,” she said. “We must allow for the outlook of every-day people and give ’em as little chance to scoff as possible. I’ll put it to Mr. Dingle the first minute I can; and you must do your part, Medora, and lie low till I’ve seen him and shown him his duty.” CHAPTER XVIII NED HEARS MR. KNOX Kellock thought twice about going to see Ned Dingle, for instinct told him that what might seem a reasonable course to such a reasonable being as himself, would possibly appear in another light to Medora’s husband. But he reflected that, as the more intelligent and better educated man, it was his place to act. Even should Dingle use violence, that much he must be prepared to face, if by so doing he could advance the situation between them. Ned was still at his house, and, on an evening in early April, when the trees of Ashprington were washed with green again and the white blossoms of the pears opened ghostly to the embrace of the east wind, Jordan called. Ned himself opened the door. “You!” he said. “What the hell do you want? I’ve kept off you—God knows how. Are you asking for it?” “I want to do what’s right, Mr. Dingle. I haven’t come for any less reason. I beg you’ll let me speak to you.” Ned breathed through his nostrils and did not reply immediately. At last he answered. “To do what’s right! You’ll never do what’s right, because you’re a hypocrite, and all your talk about helping labour and the rest of it is humbug and lies coming from a thing like you. You’re the worst sort of man—the sort that does his dirty work behind a lot of cant and pretended virtue and honesty. The gutter’s too good for you.” “I can see your point of view; but after her letter, you ought to think different. I say nothing about mine; but hers was all it ought to be under the circumstances.” “You dare to say that? All it ought to be? Did you read it?” “Yes, I did.” “And thought it right for her to say I was ‘a godless beast’ where she was concerned?” “She never said nothing like that, Mr. Dingle.” “Come in then,” said the other shortly. “You come in and sit down and read what she said.” They went into the kitchen, and Ned lighted a candle. Then he took out his pocket book, produced Medora’s letter, and flung it on the table. “Read that, please.” Kellock obeyed, and his face grew long. It was clear that Medora had not sent the letter they concocted so carefully together in the Priory ruin. He put it down. “Was that the only letter you got from her, if I may ask?” “It was.” “I never heard nothing about this letter.”