She had a vague distaste for death, which was just sufficiently stronger than her apathy to preserve her existence. She slept in her underground cave, cooked and ate what was essential, kept it and herself respectable and clean, and went dully on working, working, going wherever she was bidden, doing whatever she was told. She had decided to go out to the corner, to buy two bananas for her supper, when the door opened and Angelica came in. She was just the same--jaunty, swaggering. It might have been one of those long-past evenings when she came back from work, tired, but restless and hungry. She had the same shabby suit and ungloved hands. "Hello, mommer!" she said. Amazing to see the change in that worn face! "_Angie!_ For goodness’ sake! I never looked for _you_! Why ever didn’t you write, deary, so’s I’d have something in for your supper?" "It don’t matter, mommer. I’ll go out and get something." "I’ll get my purse----” "No--I got some money. Listen, mommer, I’m going to stay home with you a while. Mr. Eddie’s gone to the war and Mrs. Geraldine’s gone away. Now, for Gawd’s sake, don’t begin to ask a lot of questions! I’m dead tired. I’ll go out and get something for us to eat, and we’ll go to the movies after. You put on the water for tea now, while I run to the corner." But even after the front door had slammed, it was some time before Mrs. Kennedy got up to put on the kettle. "What ever is she doing home now, all of a sudden, like this?" she asked herself. "I don’t see. Oh, I do hope there’s nothing wrong! She’s so hasty!" Angelica came in again with a great paper bag. "I got a regular treat," she said. "Sardines, rolls, cheese, and a nice big can of cherries!" "You mustn’t waste your money, deary," said her mother mechanically. They both set to work to open the tins, brew the tea, and lay out the supper. "It does taste good," Mrs. Kennedy admitted. "Somehow, when I’m alone, I haven’t got the heart to buy things and cook them. It’s nice to see you again, Angie!" "I dare say you’ll soon be sick of me," said Angelica. "Now, come along, mommer, put on your hat and coat!" They went out together, the tall, swaggering daughter, the small, decorous mother, along the swarming streets to their favourite moving-picture "palace." It was exactly the sort of picture Mrs. Kennedy liked, a "society" one, and in addition her daughter bought her a box of caramels. In every way a treat, a notable evening! And yet, all the time, her vague anxiety persisted. She had questions which she felt she must ask. They went home, and to bed, without her having summoned courage to put them. Then, at last: "Angie!" she said softly in the dark. "Angie!" Not a sound. Angelica must have fallen asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. II