"No man," she said, still with an unsteady voice, "is bound to carry out a promise made in a reckless moment, against his better judgment, a promise which involves the usefulness of his life. As to Belinda, I suppose I must endure the presence of that woman next week; I must endure it, because I hadn't the sense—the foresight—to prevent her putting a foot in this house."
The Warden's face twitched.
"Am I expecting too much from you, Lena?" he asked.
"Expecting too much!" Lady Dashwood made her way blindly to the door. "I have wrecked your life by sheer stupidity, and I am well punished." At the door she stayed. "Of course, Jim, I shall now back you up, through thick and thin."
She went out and stood for a moment, her head throbbing. She had said all. She had spoken as she had never spoken in her life before, she had said her last word. Now she must be silent and go through with it all unless—unless—something happened—unless some merciful accident happened to prevent it. She went downstairs again and crossed the hall to the door of the breakfast-room. May was still there, holding a newspaper in her hands, apparently reading it.
Lady Dashwood walked straight in, and then said quietly: "They are practically engaged." She saw the paper in May's hand quiver.
"Yes," said May, without moving her paper. "Of course."
Her voice sounded small and hard. Lady Dashwood moved about as if to arrange something, and then stood at the dull little window looking out miserably, seeing nothing.
"I wonder—I hope, you won't be vexed with me. Aunt Lena," began May. "You won't be angry——"
"I couldn't be angry with you," said Lady Dashwood briefly, "but——" She did not move, she kept her back to her niece.