heavy and gruff, it had yet revealed
a tenderness that had given to Ethel a sudden thrill--which she had
forgotten the next moment, for her thoughts kept spinning so. But now
as he looked down at her she saw in his gaunt lean face a reflection of
that tenderness; and there was a pity in his voice which set her lip to
quivering.

"The sooner we have this over," he said, "the better it will be for
Joe."

"Yes."

"Tomorrow!"

"Yes."

"At four!"

"All right."

"I'll see to it."

"Thank you." There was a pause.

"Is there any special cemetery? You have any preference?" he asked.

"I don't know any in New York." And again there was a silence.

"You haven't been here long," he said.

"You'll be going back now to your home, I suppose."

"I haven't any."

"Oh," he said. She glanced up and saw a gleam of uneasiness in his
steady tired eyes. She shrank a little.

"You have no relatives living?" he asked.

"None that I care about," she replied. She swallowed sharply. "They're
scattered--gone West. We lost track of them."

"Oh. . . . Then do you intend to stay here?"

"For awhile--if Joe wants me."

"I'll take care of Joe." Though the voice was low, it had an anxious
jealous note which made her shiver slightly.

"There's the child," she reminded him sharply. "Why not take it away?"
he asked. "Joe never cared for it, did he? Do you think it has been
happy here?"

And at that she could have struck him. At her glare he turned away.

"Forgive me. Of course I--should not have said that." A pause. "Nor
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 t