“I don’t know that, because as you feel, so I must do. I recognise my obligations sharp enough, and she is the first of them if you ordain she is to be. I’ve thought a lot about it you may be sure, and I’ve recognised one thing fairly clearly—I did before you struck this blow. I’m not a marrying man, Mr. Dingle.” “Nobody ever thought you were but that fool.” “It wasn’t her fault. We were both wrong—that’s all. And I want to say this. I wouldn’t marry Medora now if I could, because I’ve been brought to see I shouldn’t make her happy. A brother I’m prepared to be; but for her own sake, and for her future, I wouldn’t marry her if I could now, because I should be doing her a wrong. Of course, you’ll say I’m putting this on because you won’t let me marry her; but I swear to you that I’d begun to feel it before.” “That lets you out then—with your tail between your legs. And what price her?” “That’s why I’ve called this morning. I can’t say anything to Medora until I’ve spoken to you, because it’s clear that what I must do depends upon you. If you’ve done with her, then I shall support her and be as good a brother as I know how to be.” “Have you ever seen the man who would take a woman back after these games? Would you, if you was me?” “I’d think a lot before I refused, if I was you. Knox tells me that it’s a very uncommon case, but quite in keeping with my character. You understand, I’ve said nothing to Medora. Of course, she knows what the price is she’s got to pay. The appearance of evil is as bad in this case as evil itself; so she’s doomed if you doom her, but saved if you save her. Would it be asking too much to ask you to see her?” “I have seen her.” “Not since she knew the situation. We often learn a lesson when it’s too late to profit by the knowledge, and it’s for you to judge if that will be the case with Medora. I’m only raising the question, and I don’t want to fill her head with false hopes. She’s been too much of a lady to say anything out; but she’s shown her feelings on the subject in a good many ways.” “She’s fed up with you, in fact?” “Yes; I believe that is so. In a way, to use a homely sort of illustration, what we did was to keep company—no more than that; and that showed her very clear I’m not the right company; and it’s shown me, as I say, I’m not a marrying man. So there it is. I can promise you your wife will want for nothing, and I shall regard her destiny as in my hands in future, if you’re off her for good. And if you change your mind and divorce her, I’ll swear it won’t be me that marries her. That you can take on oath. I’ll tell her so to-day.” Kellock rose to go, and Ned remained silent and seated. “Remember, if you do see her, you’ll see a wiser and sadder woman,” the vatman ventured to add. “No doubt. You’d make anybody sadder and wiser. When are you going to try for your stroke again?” “I don’t know.” “Nobody will pity you when they hear how you lost it.”