“I quite understand I’m in a very delicate position so far as you’re concerned. I don’t expect you to take my side in the matter, though I’m quite confident that in a year’s time, Mrs. Trivett, you’ll see this is a blessing in disguise. And I tell you that Medora’s husband that was, abused his rights, so that it was up to me, who loved and respected Medora, to rescue her from him. Because, if she’d stopped under his cruel tyranny much longer, she’d have lost everything that makes life worth living for man or woman.” “And where did you get this news from? Where did you hear Ned Dingle was a cruel tyrant, and all the rest of it?” “On the best possible authority surely. I had it from Medora herself.” There was a pause, then Lydia proceeded. “Yesterday, at Ned’s wish—at his wish, mind—me and Daisy Finch went to his house and packed up every stitch belonging to my daughter—every tiniest thing that was hers—and brought ’em here for her comfort. You wouldn’t call that a cruel thing, would you?” “You might have saved yourself the trouble, because Mr. Kellock wouldn’t let me wear them even if I wanted to,” said Medora. “It shows his nice feeling against my late husband’s coarse feeling—as if any proper thinking man could suppose I wanted anything about me to remind me of the bitter past. I’ve got everything new from London.” “A pity you couldn’t have got a new—however, I’m not here to lecture you. I’m your mother. I’ve only a few things to say.” “How’s Mr. Dingle took it?” asked Medora. “Like a Christian, so far, and will, I hope, to the end.” “Will he see me?” enquired Kellock. “He didn’t answer my letter.” “I can’t tell as to that. Like the rest of us, he was a lot surprised that you could come back here after a thing like this. And Mr. Knox said your point of view was beyond his experience. He wondered if you expected to see a triumphal arch put up. But Ned feels more like an ordinary, decent person, I reckon. He’s going. He’s left the Mill, and he’s going to put up his house for sale.” “If he’s took it like a Christian, as you say, perhaps he’ll go farther still,” suggested Kellock. “There’s only one house in these parts that’s like to suit Medora and myself; but perhaps Dingle’s house—?” His dry mind saw nothing impossible about the idea, but Lydia stared at him. “What on earth are you made of?” she asked. “It sounds unreasonable to you? But, if you think of it, there’s nothing unreasonable really. If we’re all going to carry this through in a high-minded way, there’s no more reason why I shouldn’t buy, or rent, Dingle’s house than anybody else.” “Except me,” said Medora. “And mother’s right there. I wonder at you thinking of such a thing, and putting me in such a false position—seeing his ghost at every corner, and hearing him whistling at every turn. You haven’t got no imagination, Jordan. I wouldn’t go back to that house or cross the threshold, not if it was built of gold with diamond windows.”