“’Tain’t that. It’s selfishness in some cases, and just common sense in others. We small people are much freer to act than the upper sort. And as divorce costs a mint of money, there’s thousands and thousands fling up all hope of an orderly release, and part, and go their own way, and live respectable lives that make the Church properly yelp and wring its hands. But the Church is powerless against the Law, so my husband says; and the Law takes very good care to keep the whip-hand and make divorce a great source of income for lawyers. However, Dingle is a prosperous man, and no doubt he’ll run to it and do the needful. The trouble in these cases is the children, and lucky that don’t arise this time. ’Tis a very great thing in my view that a woman should have her children by the man she prefers.”
“Who wants children?” asked Medora. “They’re nothing but a curse and a nuisance most times. Me and Mr. Kellock want to do important things in the world, Mrs. Hayman.”
“If you can think of anything more important than getting a brace of good healthy children, I’d be glad to know what it is,” answered the landlady. “I speak without prejudice in that matter, never having had none myself. But that’s no fault of ours—merely the will of Providence, and nothing more puzzling or outrageous ever happened, for I was one of seven and Abel one of ten; and yet God willed me barren—a good mother blasted in the bud, you might say. I sometimes wish the Almighty would let Nature take its course a bit oftener.”
Medora was glad that Kellock arrived at this moment.
“I’m going to have a glass of beer, Jordan,” she said. “I’m properly tired to-night, and I shan’t sleep if I don’t.”
He answered nothing, for she had promised to give up stimulant. Then Mrs. Hayman went to fetch their supper.
Medora enjoyed familiar Devon food, ate well, and slept well enough presently in a comfortable feather bed, with the murmur of Bow River for a lullaby.
The next day was Sunday, and Mrs. Trivett duly arrived, to be received in the little parlour. Medora kissed her, and Kellock offered to shake hands; but he found that Lydia was far from cordial. She kissed Medora coldly, and ignored the man.
“I felt it my duty to see you, Medora,” she began, “because I don’t want for you, nor yet Mr. Kellock, to be under any doubt about my feelings. I think you’ve done a very evil and ill-convenient thing, and I’d like to know what would become of the world if everybody was to break their oaths and make hay of their marriage lines, same as you have.”
Medora quoted from Mrs. Hayman, and Kellock ventured to think that each case ought to be judged on its own merits.