“Nature’s at odds with a good deal we do,” answered Lydia. “Time was when a quiver full of young ones seemed good to the people. But education has changed all that. There’s selfishness in shirking a family no doubt; but there’s also sense. And the better the education grows, the shorter the families will.” They talked on until Medora herself arrived and the children came back from Sunday school. Then Mrs. Trivett and a maid prepared the tea and Mr. Pinhey, against his inclination, shared the meal. He noticed that Medora was kind to the little ones, but not enthusiastic about them. His own instincts made him shrink before so much happy and hungry youth feeding heartily. The children scattered crumbs and seemed to create an atmosphere of jam and a general stickiness around them. They also made a great deal of noise. Their mother did not appear and when Nicholas asked for their father, the eldest daughter told him that Mr. Dolbear was gone out for the day with his dogs and a ferret. He whispered under his breath, “Ferreting on the Sabbath!” After tea he took leave and returned home. Then Medora and her mother went into the orchard with the children, and Mrs. Trivett, wasting no words, asked her daughter what was vexing her. “Say as much or as little as you please, my dear—nothing if I can’t help you. But perhaps I can. It looks as though everybody but Ned sees there’s something on your mind. Can’t you tell me what it is—or better still, tell him?” Medora flushed. “There’s nothing the matter that can be helped,” she said. “Ned can’t help being himself, I suppose, and if anybody’s talking, they ought to be ashamed. It’s a cowardly, mean thing.” “It’s not cowardly, or mean to want to put a wrong right and make people better content. But nobody wants to interfere between husband and wife, and the people are very fond of you both as you well know. You say ‘Ned can’t help being himself.’ Begin there, then. You’ve been married a year now and you didn’t marry in haste either. He was what he is before you took him. He hasn’t changed.” “I didn’t think he was such a fool, if you must know,” said Medora. “What d’you mean by a fool?” “Simple—like a dog. There’s nothing to Ned. Other men have character and secrets and a bit up their sleeve. They count, and people know they ain’t seeing the inside of them. Ned’s got no inside. He’s a boy. I thought I’d married a man and I’ve married a great boy. I’m only telling you this, mind. I’m a good wife enough; but I’m not a brainless one and I can’t help comparing my husband to other men.”