"Are you going?" asked the Warden. He was standing now in the middle of the room watching her.
"I'm going," said May.
"I've driven you away," he said, "by my dismal talk."
"Driven me away!" she repeated. "Oh no!" Her voice expressed a great reproach, the reproach of one who has suffered too, and who has "dreamed dreams." Surely he knew that she could understand!
"Forgive me!" he said, and held out his hand impulsively. At least it seemed strangely impulsive in this self-contained man.
She put hers into it, withdrew it, and together they went to the door. For the first time in her life May felt the sting of a strange new pain. The open door led away from warmth and a world that was full and satisfying—at least it would have led away from such a world—a world new to her—only that she was saying "Good night" and not "Good-bye." Later on she would have to say "Good-bye." How many days were there before that—five whole days? She walked up the steps, and went into the corridor. Louise was there, just coming towards her.
"Madame desires me to say good night," said Louise, giving May's face a quick searching glance.
"I'll come and say good night to her," said May, "if it's not too late."
No, it was not too late. Louise led the way, marvelling at the callous self-assurance of English people.
Louise opened her mistress's door, and though consumed with raging curiosity, left Mrs. Dashwood to enter alone.