“You can’t understand, mother. It’s like being patronised in a sort of way, and Jordan shan’t patronise me. At any rate, I want to come to Priory Farm for a bit—just to show him I’m not dependent on him, and have got a few good relations in the world. Surely, I might do that—just for a week or two—till he has got this blessed lecture off his mind? I know all he is, and I love the ground he walks on; but, along of one thing and another, he’s not quite taking me in the right spirit for the moment, and I do think it would be a very wise thing if I was to come to you for a week or so. Please let me. They won’t mind there. They’d do anything you wished. It would show Jordan in a ladylike way, without any unpleasantness, that I’m somebody still.” “Surely to God, you don’t want to leave him?” asked Lydia. “Leave him? No—I’ve had enough of leaving people. He’s everything to me, and I’d lay down my life for him, I’m sure; but just for the minute, even with him, I feel I’ve got to fight for myself a bit. It wouldn’t be a bad thing for him to see what his life is without me. If I go, he’ll miss me at every turn, and he’ll think a bit more of me when I come back.” “But you say he thinks too much of you as it is, and fusses more than he need.” “He thinks too much and too little. I can’t explain—there’s no words to it. But let it go. I ask to come and spend a bit of time at Priory Farm. Surely you’ll let me do that? I’m getting so thin and low that I believe I’ll die if I’ve got to worry much longer. A week or two with you will set me up, and make me braver. My nerves are all on edge.” Medora was tearful and agitated. Probably her mother understood her better than she pretended. Kellock was not unctuous, but utterly humourless, and, in the matter of Medora, he did sometimes unconsciously take a line that suggested the stained-glass attitude. It was as much her fault as his, for, at an earlier stage in their companionship, she had never tired of telling him how she appreciated his sacrifices, his noble patience, and chivalric support of herself. A man without sense of proportion could not fail to be influenced by such assurances from the woman he loved. “You shall come certainly,” said Lydia, “and there’s no need to take on and let things fret you to fiddlestrings. It’ll happen right presently. It may be a good thing for you to stop at Cornworthy for a while.” She remembered Philander’s suggestion that Medora might, with advantage, see Ned. It would be possible to arrange such a meeting at Cornworthy perhaps; and if Medora prevailed with Mr. Dingle to renounce his threat of claiming damages, that must be to the good. She promised her daughter that she should come, drank tea with her, and left her happier than she had been for a long time.