May, having at last completely drawn off both her gloves, was folding and unfolding them with unsteady hands.
"It's a mystery," said May.
"But I don't care what happened!" said Lady Dashwood, solemnly; "I don't really want to know. It is over! I can't rest, I can't read, I can't think coherently. I can only be thankful—thankful beyond words."
May walked slowly in the direction of the door. "Yes, all your troubles are over," she said.
"Do you remember, May," went on Lady Dashwood, "how you and I stood together just here, under the portrait, when you arrived on Monday? Well, all that torment is over. All that happened between then and now has been wiped clean out, as if it had never been."
But all had not been wiped out. Some of what happened had been written down in May's mind and couldn't be wiped out.
"Don't go this moment; sit down for a little, before you go and dress," said Lady Dashwood, "and I'll try and sit, for I must talk, I must talk, and, May dear, you must listen. Come back, dear!"
Lady Dashwood sat down on one side of the fireplace and looked at May, as she came back and seated herself on the opposite side. There was the fireplace between them.
"Aren't you glad?" asked Lady Dashwood. "Aren't you glad, May?"
"I am very glad," said May. "I rejoice—in your joy."