“There’s two sorts of women, and you can divide them like this—the sort of women men go to when they want to grumble about their wives, and the other sort. A man knows by instinct whether he’ll get a tender hearing, or whether he won’t.”
“I didn’t know decent men did grumble about their wives,” said Medora.
“Didn’t you? Oh, yes, they do—even the best, sometimes. If decent women can grumble about their husbands—you, for example—why shouldn’t decent men?”
“I haven’t got a husband at present,” said Medora sharply, “so you needn’t drag me in.”
“The sensible way you look facts in the face is very much to be admired,” he answered. “There’s a lot of girls, if they’d done what you’ve done, would bury their heads in the sand, like the ostrich, and think it was all right. But you don’t let the truth escape you. I admire you for that. In a way, it’s true you haven’t got a husband at present, but on the other hand, you have.”
“I won’t pretend; I never will pretend,” she answered, pleased at his praise. “I do look things in the face, as you say, though nobody gives me credit for it, and I’m not going to call Mr. Kellock my husband till he is.”
“I wasn’t thinking so much about him as Mr. Dingle. You’re that fearless that you won’t be afraid of the fact that under the law he’s your husband still, monstrous though it may sound.”
Medora nodded. She did not resent the statement, but asked a curious question.
“How does he find himself?” she inquired, and it was Mr. Knox’s turn to be surprised. But he showed no astonishment.
“To be plain, he’s suffered a lot. I’ve got the pleasure of being his friend, because he knows I’m a man who keeps himself to himself, and doesn’t push in where angels fear to tread. He’s given me his confidence, and I find this has been a very cruel facer for Dingle—knocked him out altogether. He’ll get over it some day, as a brave man should. But he’s got a warm heart, and he’ll never be quite the same again—naturally.”