“As to that, you’ll do well to mind your own business. I can brook no interference from you between me and Medora.”
“It isn’t so much what you can brook, as what is going to happen. You’ve taken a very high-minded line about Medora, Kellock—so wonderful high-minded, in fact, that you’ve got left altogether. You deserve to have a halo and a pair of wings for what you’ve done—so Philander Knox said, and I quite agree. But you don’t deserve to have Medora. And you’re not going to have Medora. You said, ‘I’ll treat this woman with all proper respect, and all that, till I can marry her’; and that showed you to be a very decent man according to your own lights; and when I heard about it, I spared you; but there’s another side. I can’t divorce Medora now, because I’ve got nothing to divorce her for—see? You might think I ought to help you to hoodwink the law in the matter, for the sake of honour and decency—things for which the law has got no use. And I would willingly enough for some people, but not for you. Because what you’ve done shows a lot of other things—chief being that Medora and you never would get on, really—not as husband and wife. Even as brother and sister, there’s been a lot of friction lately, so I hear; and what would it be if you were married? So, you see, when I say you don’t deserve Medora, Kellock, I’m not saying anything particular unkind. In fact, the truth is that a man with your nice and superior opinions can’t marry another man’s wife—not according to law. You ought to have thought of that.”
“It’s not too late.”
“Oh, yes, it is—much too late. You can’t go wrong now, even if you thought of such a thing; which you never could. You’re damned well out of it in fact; and the longer you live, the better you’ll be pleased with yourself, I dare say. The divorce laws may be beneath contempt and only fit for gorillas; but, while they are the laws, you’ve got to abide by ’em.”
Jordan Kellock stared with round, horrified eyes. Even in his dismay and grief he could wonder how the simple Ned had reached this high present standpoint, and was able to address him like a father lecturing a child. He began to recognise the hand of Mr. Knox.
Now he pulled himself together, rose, and prepared to be gone.
“I can only imagine that others have helped you to this extraordinary decision, Dingle.”
“I don’t deny it. I never was one to think I could run my own show, or play a lone hand. A pity you didn’t feel the same. A lone hand always comes to grief. You talk to Philander Knox about this. He’s a great admirer of yours. But he’s looked at it from the outside, as a student of character. He’s got no axe to grind about it.”
“And Medora?”
“I don’t care a cuss about her. As to her line, you’d better inquire at headquarters. I haven’t seen her again, and don’t much want to.”