“My dear Tom, don’t be a fool,” answered Lydia calmly. “You and Polly are getting so wrapped up in number one, that you can’t imagine anybody having any interest or thought outside this house and the welfare of you and your children. But the world goes on outside Priory Farm, and I say again, it’s come to be a question with me whether I’m doing the best I can do in the world by stopping here. A question of duty, mind. I may tell you both that some very straight things have been spoke to me of late, and I can’t pretend they haven’t got a lot of truth in ’em—perhaps more than the man who spoke them thought. For looking back, as I have a good bit since this business of Medora, I see only too bitter clear that it’s possible to be too unselfish and to spoil young folk and unfit them for the battle of life by coming between them and their duty. That’s what I did with Medora, as you reminded me just now, Polly, and that’s my inclination with your little ones; and I’m growing very doubtful if I’m not thinking of my own inclinations, or personal desires, more than what’s right.” “Either you’re mad, Lydia, or you’ve been talking to somebody that’s mad,” declared Tom furiously. “This is about the most shattering speech I’ve ever heard from you, and for cruelty and unreason I never heard the like. Look at my wife—ain’t that enough? If she’d seen a spectrum, she couldn’t have gone whiter in the gills—and her chin’s dropped and all her teeth showing. And if such a shock ain’t enough to turn her milk sour and poison that baby, then I’m a fool.” Indeed Mrs. Dolbear had changed colour and did look extremely frightened. “I know what you’re hinting at, Lydia,” she said, “and I can only tell you if you was to do such a thing as to leave your brother at a time like this, after you’d practically promised to help me with his family—if you were to go on some selfish pretext and marry some creature and lose your comfortable home and your fame for sense—if you did that, you’d never have another peaceful moment from your conscience.” “And you’d never deserve to have one,” added Tom. “Looked at on high grounds, Lydia, it don’t bear thinking on for a second, and well you know it. Bring your religion to bear on it, woman, and you’ll feel a good pinch of shame, I shouldn’t wonder.” “That’s what I’m doing, if you could see it,” answered Lydia. “It’s only a matter for religion, so far, and the welfare of the young folk. I’m thinking for them and their characters. It would be a poor come-along-of-it, Tom, if years hence you and Polly was to turn round and say that I had marred your children’s natures.”