The suffering and wronged and ill-treated heroine proved an impersonation that suited Medora’s temperament exactly, and having once assumed it, she promised to persist in it beyond the limits of her husband’s patience. She would doubtless tire sooner or later, since it is the instinct of every actor to desire new parts and new successes; but she was not going to tire of it while she made such a hit, won so much attention and created such a dramatic and exciting atmosphere about her. In fact Medora now felt herself to be the centre of her own little stage, and the experience so much delighted her that it was difficult sometimes to retain the air of crushed, Christian resignation proper to the character. But the situation she had created out of nothing real, now developed and began to take unto itself dangerous elements of reality. Such theatricals do not stand still, and instead of subsiding, as Lydia hoped it would, Mrs. Dingle’s objections and grievances, woven of gossamer at first, began to grow tougher. She guessed that she would catch more than herself in these elaborate reticulations, and she persisted until she found another was becoming entangled also. At first, to do her justice, Medora hesitated here. But she could not pour her woes into Kellock’s ears without a reaction from him, and his attitude towards her confession naturally influenced her. For, while some of her elders suspected, according to the measure of their wits, that Medora was acting, one man saw no shadow of deception. Every word rang true on his ear, for circumstances combined hopelessly to hoodwink him. His own serious nature, from which any powers of illusion or sleight were excluded, read nothing but the face value into Medora’s woeful countenance and the word value into her hopeless speeches. Not for him to answer mock heroics with banter, or reply to burlesque with irony. Had he been made of different stuff, he might have saved Medora from herself at this season; but being himself, the admirable man was terribly perturbed and indeed found himself beset with sore questions and problems from which both his character and personal attitude to the girl precluded escape. For he loved her, and the fact that she was an unhappy woman did not lessen his love; while, beyond that, his altruistic instincts must have brought him into a delicate complication in any case when once invited to participate. And now he did enter, with motives that could not honestly be considered mixed, for he was thus far influenced only by a conviction that it might be possible to help both sufferers to a better understanding. He knew that he enjoyed a far larger measure of intellect than Ned, and he felt that to shirk an effort for Medora’s sake would be cowardly. He had indeed convinced himself that it was his duty to act.