"Your advice?"
"Yes, about tightening the curb. I told you, if you recollect, that I thought there should be a greater amount of firmness and decision in your manner to Mrs. Churchill, and--"
"Oh, you need not be anxious on that score; it must have come sooner or later; and it's come sooner, that's all!"
"And what are you going to do?"
"Do? what do sensible men do when they have troubles? Grin and bear them, don't they? And so shall I. I can't live alone; so I shall instal my mother here again, and, I suppose, all will--will be pretty much as it was eighteen months ago."
"I was afraid from what my wife said, that I should find you in some such mood as this," said Harding sternly. "One would think you were mad, Frank Churchill, to hear you talk such stuff. Don't you know that Mrs. Churchill is as much your wife before God and man as she ever was? Don't you feel that she has done nothing for which even the wretched laws which we in our mighty wisdom have chosen to frame would justify you in treating her in this way? I can understand it all; you've been worked upon by the chatter and magging of these silly women until you've lost your own calm common-sense. But don't you feel now, Frank, that I'm right? Don't you feel that a fit of rage, a mere wretched passing temper, is not the thing to separate those whom--you know I use it in no canting sense--those whom God has joined together? Don't you feel that it is your duty to go to her, or to send--I'll go if you like, though it's not a very pleasant office--to point out to her the miserable folly of this course, and to bring her back to her proper place--her home?"
"My dear Harding," said Frank quietly, "I know you are sincere in your advice, but it is impossible for me to take it. My wife has subjected me to a very great outrage; and until that is explained and atoned for, I will never look upon or speak to her."
Harding would have said something more, but Churchill raised his hand in deprecation, and then changed the subject.