side, as if it were resting.

"A canary," observed the Baroness, who had never had a pet in her
life, and had always wondered how any one could care for such stupid
things.

But the violet eyes gazed up to hers reproachfully and wonderingly.

"It is dead."

That should explain everything; surely the woman must understand. Yet
there was no response. The Baroness stood upright again, grasping her
parasol and looking down with a sort of respectful indifference.
Sabina said nothing, but took up the dead bird very tenderly, as if it
could still feel that she loved it, and she pressed it softly to her
breast, bending her head to it, and then kissing the yellow feathers.
When it was alive it used to nestle there, almost as it lay now. It
had been very tame.

"I suppose a cat killed it," said the Baroness, wishing to say
something.

Sabina shook her head. She had found it lying there, not wounded, its
feathers not torn--just dead. It was of no use to answer. She rose to
her feet, still holding the tiny body against her bosom, and she
looked at the Baroness, mutely asking what had brought her there, and
wishing that she would go away.

"I came to see your sister," said the elder woman, with something like
apology in the tone.