"It's not I that's stopping him. It's his own conduct. He is hard on himself, and he is hard on her. There's nobody else to blame." "Do you mean to say you think I'm actually going to tell him not to come any more?" "My dear, it's the least you can do for me after--" "After what?" "After everything." "After letting you in for marrying me, you mean. And as I suppose poor Edie was to blame for that, it's the least _she_ can do for you to give him up. Is that it? Seeing him is about the only pleasure that's left to her, but that doesn't come into it, does it?" She was silent. "Well, and what am I to think of you for all this?" "I cannot _help_ what you think of me," said she with the stress of despair. "Well, I don't think anything, as it happens. But, if you were capable of understanding in the least what you're trying to do, I should think you a hard, obstinate, cruel woman. What I'm chiefly struck with is your extreme simplicity. I suppose I mustn't be surprised at your wanting to turn Gorst out; but how you could imagine for one moment that I would do it--No, that's beyond me." "I can only say I shall not receive him. If he comes into the house, I shall go out of it." "Well--" said Majendie judicially, as if she had certainly hit upon a wise solution. "If he dines here I must dine at the Eliotts'." "Well--and you'll like that, won't you? And I shall like having Gorst, and so will Edie, and Gorst will like seeing her, and everybody will be pleased." Overhead Mr. Gorst burst into a dance measure, so hilarious that it seemed the very cry of his delight. "As long as Edie goes on seeing him, he'll think it's all right." Overhead Mr. Gorst's gay tune proclaimed that indeed he thought so. He broke off suddenly, and began another and a better one, till the spirit of levity ran riot in immortal sounds. "So it's all right. She's a good woman. It's the only hold we've got on him." "If all good women were to reason that way--" "If all good women were to reason your way, what do you think would happen?" "There would be more good men in the world." "Would there? There would be more good men ruined by bad women. Because, don't you see, there'd be no others left for them to speak to." "If you're thinking of his good--" "Have you thought of hers?" "Yes. Supposing he ends by marrying somebody else, what will she do then?--poor Edie!" "If the somebody else is a good woman, poor Edie will fold her dear little hands, and offer up a dear little prayer of thankfulness to heaven." Upstairs the music ceased. The prodigal's footsteps were heard crossing the room and coming to a halt by Edith's couch. Majendie rose, placid and benignant. "I think," said he, "it's time for you to go to bed." CHAPTER XVI Majendie could never be angry with any woman for more than five minutes. And this time he understood his wife better than she knew. He had seen, as Edith had said, "everything."