Fleetwood nodded. 'You are read without the words: You read in history,
too, I suppose, that there are two sides to most cases. The loudest is
not often the strongest. However, now the lady shows herself crazed.
That's reading her charitably. Else she has to be taken for a spiteful
shrew, who pretends to suspect anything that's villanous, because she can
hit on no other way of striking.'

'Crazed, is a wide shot and hits half the world,' muttered Gower. 'Lady
Fleetwood had a troubled period after her marriage. She suffered a sort
of kidnapping when she was bearing her child. There's a book by an
Edinburgh doctor might be serviceable to you. It enlightens me. She
will have a distrust of you, as regards the child, until she understands
you by living with you under one roof.'

'Such animals these women are!' Good Lord !' Fleetwood ejaculated.
'I marry one, and I 'm to take to reading medical books!' He yawned.

'You speak that of women and pretend to love Nature,' said Gower.
'You hate Nature unless you have it served on a dish by your own cook.
That's the way to the madhouse or the monastery. There we expiate the
sin of sins. A man finds the woman of all women fitted to stick him in
the soil, and trim and point him to grow, and she's an animal for her
pains! The secret of your malady is, you've not yet, though you're
on a healthy leap for the practices of Nature, hopped to the primary
conception of what Nature means. Women are in and of Nature. I've
studied them here--had nothing to do but study them. That most noble of
ladies' whole mind was knotted to preserve her child during her time of
endurance up to her moment of trial. Think it over. It's your one
chance of keeping sane.