“A pity now,” said Ned, “that you didn’t let me fetch your thick coat, Medora, like I wanted to.” “You ought to have fetched it,” she answered impatiently. “I offered, and you said you didn’t want it.” “That’s like you. Throw the blame on me.” “There’s no blame to it.” “You ought to have just brought the thing and not bothered me about it,” she declared. Then her husband laughed. “So I ought,” he admitted; “but it takes a man such a hell of a time to know just what he ought to do where a woman’s concerned.” “Not where his wife’s concerned, I should think.” “Hardest of all, I reckon.” “Yes, because a wife’s truthful most times,” replied Medora. “It’s no good her pretending—there’s nothing to gain by it. Other women often pretend that a man’s pleasing them, when he’s not—just for politeness to the stupid things; but a man’s wife’s a fool to waste time like that. The sooner she trains her husband up to the truth of her, the better for him and the better for her.” They wrangled a little, then Ned laughed again. “Now Jordan will let on you and me are quarrelling,” he said. Thus challenged, the rower answered, but he was quite serious in his reply. “Last thing I should be likely to do—even if it was true. A man and his wife can argue a point without any feeling, of course.” “So they can,” declared Medora. “And a proud woman don’t let even a friend see her troubles. Not that I’ve got any troubles, I’m sure.” “And never will have, I hope,” answered Kellock gravely. The creek began to close, and ahead loomed a wharf and a building standing upon it. The hills grew higher round about, and the boat needed steering as her channel became narrower. “Tide’s turning,” said Ned, and for answer, the rower quickened his stroke. They passed the wharf, where a trout stream from a coomb ran into the estuary, then, ascending to the head of the boatable waters, reached their destination. Already the tide was falling and revealing weedy rocks and a high-water mark on either bank of the creek. To the right a little boathouse opened its dark mouth over the water, and now they slipped into it and came ashore. Medora thanked Jordan Kellock warmly. “Don’t you think I didn’t enjoy it because I got a bit chilly after the hailstorm,” she said. “I did enjoy it ever so much, and it was very kind of you to ask me.” “The last time we’ll go boating this year,” he answered, “and it was a good day, though cold along of the north wind. But the autumn woods were very fine, I’m sure.” “Properly lovely—poetry alive you might call them.” “So I thought,” he answered as he turned down his sleeves and presently put on his coat and tie again. The coat was black and the tie a subdued green. Ned made the boat ship-shape and turned to his wife. “A good smart walk up the hill will warm you,” he said. She hesitated and whispered to him. “Won’t you ask Jordan to tea?”