Presently Mrs. Quiggin said, in a tone of well-acted unconcern, “And so you say that the poor man you tell me of is still loving his wife in spite of all she has done to him?”
“Yes, Nelly. All men are like that—more fools they,” said Jenny.
Nelly’s face brightened over the needles in her hand, and her parted lips seemed to whisper, “Bless them!” But in a note of delicious insincerity she only said aloud, “Not all, Jenny; surely not all.”
“Yes, all,” said Jenny, with emphasis. “Do you think I don’t know the men better than you do?”
Nelly dropped her needles and raised her face. “Why, Jenny,” she said, “however can that be?—you’ve never even been married.”
“That’s why, my dear,” said Jenny.
Nelly laughed; then returning to the attack, she said, with a poor pretense at a yawn, “So you think a man may love a woman even after—after she has turned him out of doors, as you say?”
“Yes, but that isn’t to say that he’ll ever come back to her,” said Jenny.
The needles dropped to the lap again. “No? Why shouldn’t he then?”
“Why? Because men are never good at the bended knee business,” said Jenny. “A man on his knees is ridiculous. It must be his legs that look so silly. If I had done anything to a man, and he went down on his knees to me, I would——”