Yes, the Warden remembered, and his face clouded as it always did when war was mentioned.
"May and he were engaged as boy and girl—and I think she stuck to it—because she thought she was in honour bound. Some women are like that—precious few; and some men."
The Warden listened without remark.
"And I am just going to telephone to Mr. Boreham," said Lady Dashwood, "to ask him to come in to dinner to meet her!"
"Boreham!" groaned the Warden, and he took up his pen from the table.
"I'm so sorry," said Lady Dashwood, "but he used to know May Dashwood, so we must ask him, and I thought it better to get him over at once and have done with it."
"Perhaps so," said the Warden, and he stretched out his left hand for paper. "Only—one never has done—with Boreham."
"Poor old Jim!" said Lady Dashwood, "and now, dear, you can get back to your book," and she moved away.
"Book!" grumbled the Warden. "It's business I have to do; and anyhow I don't see how anyone can write books now! Except prophecies of the future, admonitions, sketches of possible policies, heart-searchings."
Lady Dashwood moved away. "Well, that's what you're doing, dear," she said.