“I’m not picking a quarrel, Medora; I’m only saying there’s no question of his orders. I’ll see him certainly.”
“And thank him, I should hope. I dare say he’d have had a lot of money out of you.”
“As to thanking him—however, it’s no good arguing. Leave that for the present. You can trust me to take the right line with Mr. Dingle. When are you coming back? They’re going to meet me about the house if I can take it for three years.”
“Three years is a long time, Jordan. You might want to go to London before that. I dare say your lecture will get you into notice.”
His eye brightened. Here at last was solid ground.
“You’ll be back at the inn before then. There’s a pretty good lot coming. I rather want to rehearse it to you and a man or two from the Mill one evening.”
“I’ll come back, of course, the minute I can; but—I want to tell you, Jordan, I’m not coming to the lecture. I’ve got my reasons.”
Again he was left without foothold.
“Not coming to my lecture, Medora?”
“No. You always said we must help and not hinder each other, and that marriage is a co-operation, or nothing. And I’m sure it’s better, where we don’t think alike, to respect each other’s opinions and go our own way.”