“Yes,” replied the girl without any enthusiasm, rising and going to the window.
“Will you walk with me a little way across the fields? It is such a lovely evening.”
“Yes, if you like.”
And Dora passed out of the open window.
“I am sorry,” said Sister Cecilia after a few paces, “that you were not in church. We had such a bright service.”
Dora, like some more of us, wondered vaguely where the adjective applied, especially on a gloomy evening without candles, but she said nothing.
“I stayed at home with mother,” she explained practically. “The servants were all out.” Sister Cecilia was not listening. She was gazing up at the sky, where a few stars were beginning to show themselves.
“One feels,” she murmured with a sigh, “on such an evening as this, that, after all, nothing matters much.”
“About the servants do you mean? They are going on better now.”
“No, dear, about life. I mean that at times one feels that this cannot be the end of it all.”