"And yet——" she said. Here a queer spasm came in her throat. She was moving towards the open door, for she felt that she could not bear to hear any more. He followed her.
"And yet——?" he persisted.
"I only mean," she said, and she compelled her voice to be steady, "what is the glory of the Lord? Is it anything but love—love of other people?"
She went through the open door slowly and turned to the shallow stairs that led to her bedroom. She could not hear whether he went to his library or not. She was glad that she did not meet anybody in the corridor. The doors were shut.
She locked her door and went up to the dressing-table. The little oval picture case was lying there. She laid her hand upon it, but did not move it. She stood, pressing her fingers upon it. Then she moved away. Even the memory of the past was fading from her life; her future would contain nothing—to remember.
She moved about the room. Wasn't duty enough to fill her life? Wasn't it enough for her to know that she was helping in her small way to build up the future of the race? Why could she not be content with that? Perhaps, when white hairs came and wrinkles, and her prime was past, she might be content! But until then....