Dingle, satisfied with his pupil, put on his coat when the dinner bell rang, the steam pulses of the works subsided and the power stopped. He took his basket and descended a long flight of steps to the vat room, where Kellock, Life and the other paper makers had just knocked off work. Others joined them, for the vast and airy vat room was a favourite place for dinner; but Medora did not come. For several weeks now she had ceased to meet Ned at the hour of the mid-day meal. The fact was, of course, noted and debated behind Dingle’s back; but none spoke of it in front of him. The change in Medora at this stage of her existence was obvious enough to all; while that which marked her husband did not appear so clearly. The reason had been easy to see, though few knew enough about them to see it. Medora, while really disingenuous, revealed her tribulation, because she desired everybody to perceive it; while Ned, naturally an open and simple creature, endeavoured with the instinct of a decent male to hide his worries from the public eye. He failed, however, because he was not built to play a part, while Medora succeeded to perfection. Thus she created an impression of secret woes that did not really exist, while Ned attempted to conceal anxieties which were real enough. His temper suffered under a strain that he was not created to endure, for his wife’s attitude, having first puzzled him, began to anger him. He lost his temper with her on certain occasions and her sublime patience under his rough tongue by no means turned his wrath from her. For nothing is more maddening, if you are the smiter, than to have the other cheek turned to you by a sufferer, who displays obvious gusto at your chastisement. Ned soon saw that Medora liked him to be violent and brutal. It was meat and drink to her to see him in a rage. He guessed, and not wrongly, that if he had beaten her, she must have relished the pain—not for itself, but for the exquisite pleasure of relating her sufferings to other people afterwards. She was changed, as any woman is who for pleasure or profit plays a part. Indeed many persist in such histrionics when profit has long ceased, for simple artistic delight at the impersonation. It is natural to prefer a rôle which we can perform to perfection, before others wherein we are not so effective.