Her heart sank, for she had desired to make the painful interview as brief as possible. But the event proved that Lydia need not have feared, for Mr. Knox took her black news in an unexpected spirit. They spoke first, however, of Medora and Jordan Kellock. “I never heard the like,” said Lydia. “It shows the danger of doing such things and not counting the cost. They was so wrapped up in their own affairs that they never saw it takes three people to make a divorce, and now that injured man is opening their eyes. It’s all as wrong as wrong can be, yet where are you going to put the blame?” “I’m not going to put the blame anywhere,” answered Mr. Knox. “There’s a lot too much meddling, in my opinion, and if they’re only left alone, those three people may work out their own salvation in their own way. I’m fed up with ’em: one would think the welfare of Dene hung on their capers. To hear old Pinhey, you’d say it depended on our opinion about ’em whether we’d ever get to heaven ourselves. Where you can’t help, don’t worrit. They’re all right; but what about me? This is the appointed time, Lydia, and I hope I may add that this is the day of salvation.” She jumped at the suggestion to lighten her refusal. “I expect you may; and you’ll look back at this evening and feel you are better a free man. Yes, you must regard yourself as free, please—I couldn’t do it—I couldn’t take another. I’m fond of you, if that is anything, and I’m proud you could have a fancy for me; for a reminder that I’m a woman, coming from such a man as you, naturally makes me a bit above myself. But my life’s run into a mould, you see. It’s found its channel, like a river does; and it’s made its bed. I say again I like you—I even love you, if the word ain’t nonsense at fifty; but I’ve seen my duty clear since we spoke about it. I couldn’t fairly leave my sister-in-law and brother. ’Twould be like taking a screw out of a machine. The screw ain’t much in itself but a lot depends upon it.” “You won’t marry me, you mean?” “Won’t ain’t the word. I’d be very pleased to be your wife if I was a free party, but in a sense I’m not free. You can’t be in two places at once, like a flash of lightning, and I can’t keep house for you and look after Mary’s family and do my bit at Priory Farm. And it amounts to this—my brother, when he heard what was afoot, made it very clear that Priory Farm simply couldn’t get on without me. That may seem a vain thing to you; but it’s the truth—absurd, I dare say; but they’re built like that. You, on the contrary, would get on without me well enough.”