I shouldn’t have thought the eccentricity of one old woman could matter very much to anyone.
[She pauses and looks out into the open for a moment, and then makes up her mind to speak. She speaks quite quietly, almost to herself.
When they sent for me and I went over to France I wasn’t very anxious, because I knew that God, who had taken my eldest son, would leave my second. You see, he was the only one I had left. And when I got there and found he was dead—I suddenly felt that it didn’t matter.
Mrs. Wharton.
My dear, what do you mean? How can you say such a thing?
John.
Don’t, mother. Let her go on.
Mrs. Littlewood.
I didn’t feel that anything very much mattered. It’s difficult to explain exactly what I mean. I feel that I have nothing more to do with the world and the world has nothing more to do with me. So far as I’m concerned it’s a failure. You know I wasn’t very happy in my married life, but I loved my two sons, and they made everything worth while, and now they’re gone. Let others take up the—the adventure. I step aside.
Mrs. Wharton.