rather worse than no wife at all (through no fault of his own, of
course), is it to be wondered at if he makes matters worse at first by
blaming her, and even, in his desperation, by occasionally drinking
himself into a violent condition or seeking sympathy elsewhere?

MRS. CLANDON. I did not blame him: I simply rescued myself and the
children from him.

McCOMAS. Yes: but you made hard terms, Mrs. Clandon. You had him at
your mercy: you brought him to his knees when you threatened to make the
matter public by applying to the Courts for a judicial separation.
Suppose he had had that power over you, and used it to take your
children away from you and bring them up in ignorance of your very name,
how would you feel? what would you do? Well, won't you make some
allowance for his feelings?---in common humanity.

MRS. CLANDON. I never discovered his feelings. I discovered his
temper, and his--- (she shivers) the rest of his common humanity.

McCOMAS (wistfully). Women can be very hard, Mrs. Clandon.

VALENTINE. That's true.

GLORIA (angrily). Be silent. (He subsides.)

McCOMAS (rallying all his forces). Let me make one last appeal.
Mrs. Clandon: believe me, there are men who have a good deal of feeling,
and kind feeling, too, which they are not able to express. What you
miss in Crampton is that mere veneer of civilization, the art of shewing
worthless attentions and paying insincere compliments in a kindly,