“As a judge.”
“Psha! She does not miss me.”
“Perhaps not,” he answered gravely—“but for your own sake if not for hers, it seems to me you should pursue a more domestic course.”
“What mean you?”
“You leave your wife too much to herself!—nay—let me be frank—not too much to herself, for there would be little danger in that, but too much with that fellow Edgerton.”
“What? You would not have me jealous, Kingsley?”
“No! Only prudent.”
“You dislike Edgerton, Kingsley.”
“I do! I frankly confess it. I think he wants manliness of character, and such a man always lacks sincerity. But I do not speak of him. I should utter the same opinion with respect to any other man, in similar circumstances. A wife is a dependent creature—apt to be weak!—If young, she is susceptible—equally susceptible to the attentions of another and to the neglect of her husband. I do not say that such is the case—with your wife. Far from it. I esteem her very much as a remarkable woman. But women were intended to be dependents. Most of them are governed by sensibilities rather than by principles. Impulse leads them and misleads. The wife finds herself neglected by the very man who, in particular, owes her duty. She finds herself entertained, served, watched, tended with sleepless solicitude, by another; one, not wanting either in personal charms and accomplishments, and having similar tastes and talents. What should be the result of this? Will she not become indifferent where she finds indifference—devoted where she finds devotion? A cunning fellow, like Edgerton, may, under these circumstances, rob a man of his wife's affections. Mark me, I do not say that he will do anything positively dishonorable, at least in the world's acceptation of the term. I do not intimate—I would not willingly believe—that she would submit to anything of the sort. I speak of the affections, not of the virtues. There is shame to the man in his wife's dishonor; but the misfortune of losing her affections is neither more nor less than the suffering without the shame. Look to it. I do not wish to prejudice your mind against Edgerton. Far from it. I have forborne to speak hitherto because I knew that my own mind was prejudiced against him. Even now I say nothing against HIM. What I say has reference to your conduct only.—I do not think Edgerton a bad man. I think him a weak one. Weak as a woman—governed, like her, by impulse rather than by principle—easily led away—incapable of resisting where his affections are concerned—repenting soon, and sinning, in the same way, as fast as he repents. He is weak, very weak—washy-weak—he wants stamina, and, wanting that, wants principle!”
“Strange enough, if you should be right! How do you reconcile this opinion with his refusal to lend you money to game upon? He was governed in that by principle.”