"Well, anyway, it got into my stupid head, and as luck would have it I fell in with David a bit after I’d left you. You must remember the day, Madge. It’s idle to pretend you’ve forgot." "Yes, I remember. I was down-daunted and silly. You oughtn’t to have thought twice about my feeble grumbling." "You didn’t grumble. Another person would have marked nothing in what you said; but I know you so well--quick as lightning I am where you are concerned, or any woman I care about. And I talked to David." She started and stared at him. "Then I’m very angry indeed with you, Bartley." "Are you? Well, he wasn’t. There’s few more sensible, clever chaps knocking about than your husband. Like a flash I opened his eyes, and he thanked me for doing it. Thanked me, mind you." "Opened his eyes! Whatever do you mean?" "I mean I opened his eyes. He’s a terrible busy man and I’m a terrible lazy one. And ’tis no use being lazy if you can’t use your time to do the busy folk a good turn. Fools would say ’twas interference; but not a wise man like David." "What did you tell him?" "Say you forgive me." "It depends what you said." "It depends on the result of what I said. I told David that I reckoned he was--well--too busy. I said he dropped you out of his life a bit too much and didn’t humour you enough. I told him plump out that he wasn’t so kind as he might be. Now you’re properly angered with me, no doubt; but just think if you’ve a right to be." She was silent, and her flush faded and her eyes fixed on him and grew puzzled. "’Twas only because I knew him so well and his straight, just way that I dared," he continued. "And now you’ve got to say if that talk did harm or good. And if it did harm, heap hard words on me; but if it did good--" She put out her hand impulsively, but not until a silent minute had sped. During the moments she retraced the past and remembered what had surprised her and made her happier. Then she stretched out her hand and clasped his. "Good came of it," she said. "If that’s so, I’ve gained something to-day as well as lost something, Madge." "David--it shows what he is, Hartley." "Yes. He’s high above anything small or mean." She continued to reflect. It was impossible to say much more on the subject, and, indeed, the brightest that could be said was spoken. The wife, though she knew that her husband had long since resumed his old absorbed attitude and found less and less leisure for amenity and tenderness, could not whisper this outside her own heart. "It was good and brave of you," she said. "And dear David belongs to the large-souled sort of men that ban’t above learning even on such a sacred, secret business as his wife. But he knew you had known me ever since I was a little girl." Bartley nodded. "So long as you can tell me that good came of it, I’m content. Now leave it. Eat your lunch and then I must go. And strive to bring ’em both--Rhoda and David--to the funeral."