“I see,” he said.  “Sweethearting some other woman, is he?  Well, what of it?  He isn’t the first husband who has done the like, and I guess he won’t be the last.”

Still I thought I had not made myself clear, so I said my husband had been untrue to me, that his infidelities under my own roof had degraded me in my own eyes and everybody else’s, that I could not bear to live such a life any longer and consequently. . . .

“Consequently,” said my father, “you come to me to fight your battles for you.  No, no, fight them yourself, gel.  No father-in-law ought to interfere.”

It was a man’s point of view I suppose, but I was ready to cry with vexation and disappointment, and though I conquered the impulse to do that I could go no farther.

“Who’s the woman?” he asked.

I told him it was one of our house-party.

“Then cut her out.  I guess you’re clever enough to do it, whoever she is.  You’ve got the looks too, and I don’t grudge you the money.  Cut her out—­that’s the best advice I can give you.  Make your husband see you’re the better woman of the two.  Cut her out, I’m saying, and don’t come whining here like a cry-baby, who runs to her grandmother’s apron-strings at the first scratch she gets outside.”

He had been reaching forward, but he now fell back on his pillows, saying: 

“I see how it is, though.  Women without children are always vapouring about their husbands, as if married life ought to be a garden of Eden.  One woman, one man, and all the rest of the balderdash.  I sot your Aunt Bridget on you before, gel, and I’ll have to do it again I’m thinking.  But go away now.  If I’m to get better I must have rest.  Nessy!” (calling) “I’ve a mort o’ things to do and most everything is on my shoulders.  Nessy!  My medicine!  Nessy!  Nessy!  Where in the world has that girl gone to?”

“I’m here, Daniel,” said Nessy MacLeod coming back to the room; and as I went out and passed down the corridor, with a crushed and broken spirit and the tears ready to gush from my eyes, I heard her coaxing him in her submissive and insincere tones, while he blamed and scolded her.

Half an hour afterwards Aunt Bridget came to me in my mother’s room.  Never in my life before had I been pleased to see her.  She, at least, would see my situation with a woman’s eyes.  But I was doomed to another disappointment.

“Goodness me, girl,” she cried, “what’s this your father tells me?  One of your own guests, is it?  That one with the big eyes I’ll go bail.  Well, serve you right, I say, for bringing a woman like that into the house with your husband—­so smart and such a quality toss with her.  If you were lonely coming home why didn’t you ask your aunt or your first cousin?  There would have been no trouble with your husband then—­not about me at all events.  But what are you thinking of doing?”

“Getting a divorce,” I answered, firmly, for my heart was now aflame.