Then Lady Dashwood began to turn the handle of the door.
"Why should he be sacrificed to—to—futilities?" Then she added very softly: "I have had no son of my own, May, so Jim fills the vacant place. I think I could, like Abraham, have sacrificed my son to the Great God of my nation, but this sacrifice! Oh, May, it's so silly! He might have married some nice, quiet Oxford girl any day. And he has waited for this!"
She saw the pain in May's eyes and added: "I am wearing you out with my talk. I am getting very selfish. I am thinking too much of my own suffering. You, too, have suffered, dear, and you say nothing," and as she spoke her voice softened to a whisper. "But, May, your sacrifice was to the Great God of your nation—the Great God of all nations."
"The sacrifice had nothing to do with me," said May, turning away. "It was his."
"But you endure the loss, the vacant place," said Lady Dashwood.
"I know what a vacant place means," said May, quietly, "and my vacant place will never be filled—except by the children of other women! Good night, dear aunt," and she walked away quickly, without looking back. Then she found the door of her room and went in.
Lady Dashwood's eyes followed her, till the door closed.
"I ought not to have said what I did," murmured Lady Dashwood. "Oh, dear May, poor May," and she went back into her room.
Gwen was still sleeping peacefully.