“So she says; but on a very poor excuse in my opinion. Such a sensible woman might have found a better reason for turning me down. In fact she would—if there’d been a better reason; but the truth is there’s no reason at all. Therefore, though she thinks I’m rejected, I don’t regard myself as in that position—not yet.” A love so venerable in her eyes did not interest Medora, but she mildly wondered at him. “I’m sure I can’t think how you old people can run after each other and drive each other miserable, when you see what a beastly mess we young people make of love,” she said. “Ah! You speak with a good deal of feeling. But we old people—as you call us, rather thoughtlessly, Medora—we old people don’t take you children for a model. We’ve been through those stages, and what we understand by love ain’t what you understand by it. We’ve forgotten more than you know. I should have thought now that Kellock—a man so much older than his years—might have given you a glimpse of the beauty and steadfastness of what we’ll call middling to middle-aged love, Medora?” “Perhaps he has.” “Don’t his ideas appeal to you as a bit lofty and high class—as compared with your first’s notion of it for instance?” She looked sharply at Mr. Knox, but did not answer. He put the question moodily and appeared not interested in an answer. Indeed he proceeded without waiting for her to speak. “There’s two sorts of women, and you can divide them like this—the sort of women men go to when they want to grumble about their wives, and the other sort. A man knows by instinct whether he’ll get a tender hearing, or whether he won’t.” “I didn’t know decent men did grumble about their wives,” said Medora. “Didn’t you? Oh, yes, they do—even the best, sometimes. If decent women can grumble about their husbands—you, for example—why shouldn’t decent men?” “I haven’t got a husband at present,” said Medora sharply, “so you needn’t drag me in.” “The sensible way you look facts in the face is very much to be admired,” he answered. “There’s a lot of girls, if they’d done what you’ve done, would bury their heads in the sand, like the ostrich, and think it was all right. But you don’t let the truth escape you. I admire you for that. In a way, it’s true you haven’t got a husband at present, but on the other hand, you have.” “I won’t pretend; I never will pretend,” she answered, pleased at his praise. “I do look things in the face, as you say, though nobody gives me credit for it, and I’m not going to call Mr. Kellock my husband till he is.” “I wasn’t thinking so much about him as Mr. Dingle. You’re that fearless that you won’t be afraid of the fact that under the law he’s your husband still, monstrous though it may sound.” Medora nodded. She did not resent the statement, but asked a curious question. “How does he find himself?” she inquired, and it was Mr. Knox’s turn to be surprised. But he showed no astonishment.