“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.”