"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 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 the undertaker. Several boxes of flowers came. Later from a milliner's shop two pretty autumn hats arrived. The guests began arriving--silent, awkward strangers--ten or twelve. She heard the nurse come in with Susette and take her back to the nursery. There was no music. Not a sound. At last the silence was broken by the minister's low voice. Thank heaven that was kindly. He was brief, and yet too long; for from the apartment one flight below, before he had finished, the festive throb of a little orchestra was heard. He prayed just a minute or two. Then they followed the coffin out into the hall and back and down by the freight elevator. A motor hearse was waiting below.