talked of your plans. I'm not myself. Sorry for Joe. Forgive me." He
turned away from her, frowning. "I'll see to everything," he said, and
she heard him leave the apartment.

And all the rest of the day and the night and through the morning which
followed, no one else came but professional men, and Mrs. Carr. She
came and went; and her voice grew familiar--hard, intrusive, naked. And
the thought kept rising in Ethel's mind, like a flash of revelation in
all the storm and blackness:

"This kind of a woman was Amy's best friend!"


The funeral was soon over, and of its ugly details only a few remained
in her mind. She had a glimpse of Amy's face down in the handsome
coffin, and at the sight she turned away with a swift pang of
self-reproach. "I shouldn't have let Fanny do that!" Fanny had dressed
her sister.

She remembered the low respectful voice of the building superintendent:
"There's an afternoon tea on the floor below, so the casket and the
funeral guests had better go down by the freight elevator."

She gave a strained little laugh at that and asked, "I wonder when I'll
cry?"

The preacher, a tall kindly young man, came in and seemed about to
speak; but after a look at her face he stopped. He had come from a
church two blocks away. Joe and Amy had never been to his church, and
it was Nourse who had brought him here. Nourse had learned of him from