own and all the rooms were
bathed in a green twilight.

About quarter past four Maggie went down into the Strand and found a
cab. She gave the address and off they went. Sitting in the corner of
the cab she seemed to be an entirely passive spectator of events that
were being played before her. She knew, remotely, that Aunt Anne's
death had deeply affected her, that coming back to the old house had
deeply affected her, and that this interview with Amy Warlock might
simply fasten on her the fate that she had for many months now seen in
front of her. She could not escape; and she did not want to escape.

They found the house, a very grimy looking one, in the interminable
Cromwell Road. Maggie rang a jangling bell, and the door was ultimately
opened by a woman with sleeves turned up at the elbows and a dirty
apron.

"Is Miss Warlock at home?" The woman sniffed.

"I expect so," she said. "Most times she is. What name?"

"Mrs. Trenchard," Maggie said.

She was admitted into a hall that smelt of food and seemed in the
half-light to be full of umbrellas. The woman went upstairs, but soon
returned to say that Miss Warlock would see the lady. Maggie found that
in the sitting-room the gas was dimly burning. There was the usual
lodging-house furniture, and on a faded red sofa near the fire old Mrs.
Warlock was lying. Maggie could not see her very clearly in the
half-light, but there was something about her immobility and the
stiffness of her head (decorated as of old with its frilly white cap)
that reminded one of a figure made out of wax. Maggie turned to find
Amy Warlock standing close to her.

"Mrs. Thurston--" Maggie began, hesitating.

"You may not know," said Amy Warlock, "that I have retained my maiden
name. Sit down, won't you? It is good of you to have come."

The voice was a little more genial than it had been in the old days.
Nevertheless this was still the old Amy Warlock, stiff, masculine,
impenetrable.

"I hope your aunt is better," she said.

"My aunt is dead," answered Maggie.

"Dear me, I'm sorry to hear that. She was a good woman and did many
kind actions in her time."

There was something very unpleasant about that room, with the yellow
light, the hissing gas, and the immobile figure on the sofa. Maggie
looked in the direction of old Mrs. Warlock.

"You needn't mind mother," said Amy Warlock. "For some time now she's
been completely paralysed. She can't speak or move. But she likes to be
downst