Peter said it did.
"On and on," said Rhoda. "Same stupid people saying the same stupid old things. I do wonder they don't get tired. They don't know anything, do they?"
Rhoda's hankering was still after Great Minds.
"They're funny sometimes," suggested Peter tentatively; but she was blind to that.
"They don't know a thing. And they talk and talk, so stupidly. About religion—as if one religion was different from another. And about dead people, as if they knew all about them and what they were doing. They seem to make sure souls go on—Miss Matthews and Miss Baker were both sure of that. But how can they tell? Some people that know lots more than them don't think so, but say ... say it's nothingness."
Peter recognised Guy Vyvian's word. Rhoda would have said "nothing to follow."
"People say," he agreed, "quite different things, and none of them know anything about it, of course. One needn't worry, though."
"You never worry," she accused him, half fretfully. "But," she added, "you don't preach, either. You don't say things are so when you can't know.... Do you think anything about that, Peter—about going on? I don't believe you do."
Peter reflected. "No," he said. "I don't believe I do. I can't look beyond what I can see and touch; I don't try. I expect I'm a materialist. The colours and shapes of things matter so awfully much; I can't imagine anything of them going on when those are dead. I rather wish I could. Some people that know lots more than me do, and I think it's splendid of them and for them. They're very likely right, too, you know."
Rhoda shook her head. "I believe it's nothingness."