"My dear," said Lady Dashwood slowly, "I wish you wouldn't even joke about it—I dislike it. I wish people wouldn't invent ghost stories," she went on. "They are silly, and they are often mischievous. I wish you wouldn't talk as if you believed it."
"It was you, Lena, who brought up the subject," said Middleton. "But I won't talk about him if you dislike it. You know that I am not a believer in ghosts."
Lady Dashwood nodded her head approvingly, and began turning more pages of her book.
"I sometimes wonder," said the Warden, and now he turned his face towards May Dashwood—"I wonder if men like Langley really believed in a future life?"
May looked up at the portrait, but was silent.
"The eighteenth century was not tormented with the question as we are now!" said the Warden, and again he looked at the auburn head and the dark lashes hiding the downcast eyes. "Those who doubt," he said slowly and tentatively, "whether after all the High Gods want us—those who doubt whether there are High Gods—even those doubt with regret—now." He waited for a response and May Dashwood suddenly raised her eyes to his.
"There is no truculence in modern unbelief," he said, "it is a matter of passionate regret. And belief has become a passionate hope."
Lady Dashwood knew that not a word of this was meant for her. She disliked all talk about the future world. It made her feel dismal. Her life had been spent in managing first her father, then her brother, and now her husband, and incidentally many of her friends.
Some people dislike having plans made for them, some endure it, some positively like it, and for those who liked it, Lady Dashwood made extensive plans. Her brain worked now almost automatically in plans. For herself she had no plans, she was the planner. But her plans were about this world. To the "other world" Lady Dashwood felt secretly inimical; that "unknown" lurking in the future, would probably, not so long hence, engulf her husband, leaving her, alas! still on this side—with no heart left for making any more plans.
If she had been alone with the Warden he would not have mentioned the "future life," nor would he have spoken of the "High Gods." He knew her mind too well. Was he probing the mind of May Dashwood? Either he was deliberately questioning her, or there was something in her presence that drew from him his inmost thoughts. Lady Dashwood felt a pang of indignation at herself for "being in the way" when to be "out of the way" at such a moment was absolutely necessary. She must leave these two people alone together—now—at this propitious moment. What should she do? She began casting about wildly in her brain for a plan of escape that would not be too obvious in its intention. The Warden had never been with May alone for five minutes. To-morrow would be a blank day—there was Chartcote first and then when they returned the Warden would be still away and very probably would not be visible that evening.