“Well,” said Mrs. Denton, with a look of comic resignation, “it seems to be a pretty personal thing, after all, in spite of father’s philosophy. I always supposed that when we came into the world we should have an election, and vote down all these difficulties by an overwhelming majority.”
Ray quoted, musingly:
“The world is out of joint:—O cursed spite!
That ever I was born to set it right!”
“Yes? Who says that?”
“Hamlet.”
“Oh yes. Well, I feel just exactly as Ham does about it.”
Denton laughed wildly out at her saucy drolling, and she said, as if his mirth somehow vexed her, “I should think if you’re so much troubled by that hard question of yours, you would get your Voice to say something.”
Her husband rose, and stood looking down, while a knot gathered between his gloomy eyes. Then he turned and left the room without answering her.
She sent a laugh after him. “Sometimes,” she said to the others, “the Voice doesn’t know any better than the rest of us.”
Peace remained looking gravely at her a moment, and then she followed Denton out of the room.