"A lovely morning, May. Just the day for seeing Oxford at its best."
And this forced May to say, at once, what she was going to say. She was going away in the afternoon.
Lady Dashwood received May's news quietly. She gave May a look of meek resignation that was harder to bear than any expostulation would have been.
"Everybody is going," she said slowly, and lying back on her pillows with a sigh. "I must be going directly, as soon as I am up and about. I can't leave your Uncle John alone any longer, and there is so much that even an old woman can do, and that I had to put aside to come here."
May was standing at the foot of the bed looking at her very gravely.
"I can't imagine you not doing a lot," she said.
"I shall be all right in a couple of days," said Lady Dashwood. "What was wrong with me, dear, was nerves, nerves, nothing but nerves, and I am ashamed of it. When I am bouncing with vigour again, May, I shall go. I shall leave Oxford. I shall leave Jim."
"I suppose you will have to," said May, vaguely.
"Jim will be horribly lonely," said Lady Dashwood.
"I'm afraid so," said May, slowly.