"I dare say," said Lady Dashwood. "What did you think of the Hardings?"
May said she didn't know.
"They are a type one finds everywhere," said Lady Dashwood.
The afternoon passed slowly away. It was the busy desolation of the city, a willing sacrifice to the needs of war, that made both May and Lady Dashwood sit so silently as they went first to Wadham, and then, round through the noble wide expanse of Market Square opposite St. John's. Then later on out into the interminable stretch of villas beyond. By the time they returned to the Lodgings the grey afternoon light had faded into darkness.
"Any letters?" asked Lady Dashwood, as Robinson relieved them of their wraps.
Yes, there were letters awaiting them, and they had been put on the table in the middle of the hall; there was a wire also. The wire was from the Warden, saying that he would not be back to dinner.
"He's coming later," said Lady Dashwood, aloud. "Late, May!"
"Oh!" said May Dashwood.
There was a letter for Gwen. It was lying by itself and addressed in her mother's handwriting. She laid her hand upon it and hurried up to her room.
Lady Dashwood went upstairs slowly to the drawing-room. "H'm, one from Belinda," she said to herself, "asking me to keep Gwen longer, I suppose, on some absurd excuse! Well, I won't do it; she shall go on Monday."