Father would never forgive them. That was what they felt more than ever when, two mornings later, they went into his room to go through his things. They had discussed it quite calmly. It was even down on Josephine’s list of things to be done. “_Go through father’s things and settle about them._” But that was a very different matter from saying after breakfast: “Well, are you ready, Con?” “Yes, Jug—when you are.” “Then I think we’d better get it over.” It was dark in the hall. It had been a rule for years never to disturb father in the morning, whatever happened. And now they were going to open the door without knocking even.... Constantia’s eyes were enormous at the idea; Josephine felt weak in the knees. “You—you go first,” she gasped, pushing Constantia. But Constantia said, as she always had said on those occasions, “No, Jug, that’s not fair. You’re the eldest.” Josephine was just going to say—what at other times she wouldn’t have owned to for the world—what she kept for her very last weapon, “But you’re the tallest,” when they noticed that the kitchen door was open, and there stood Kate.... “Very stiff,” said Josephine, grasping the doorhandle and doing her best to turn it. As if anything ever deceived Kate! It couldn’t be helped. That girl was.... Then the door was shut behind them, but—but they weren’t in father’s room at all. They might have suddenly walked through the wall by mistake into a different flat altogether. Was the door just behind them? They were too frightened to look. Josephine knew that if it was it was holding itself tight shut; Constantia felt that, like the doors in dreams, it hadn’t any handle at all. It was the coldness which made it so awful. Or the whiteness—which? Everything was covered. The blinds were down, a cloth hung over the mirror, a sheet hid the bed; a huge fan of white paper filled the fireplace. Constantia timidly put out her hand; she almost expected a snowflake to fall. Josephine felt a queer tingling in her nose, as if her nose was freezing. Then a cab klop-klopped over the cobbles below, and the quiet seemed to shake into little pieces. “I had better pull up a blind,” said Josephine bravely. “Yes, it might be a good idea,” whispered Constantia. They only gave the blind a touch, but it flew up and the cord flew after, rolling round the blind-stick, and the little tassel tapped as if trying to get free. That was too much for Constantia. “Don’t you think—don’t you think we might put it off for another day?” she whispered. “Why?” snapped Josephine, feeling, as usual, much better now that she knew for certain that Constantia was terrified. “It’s got to be done. But I do wish you wouldn’t whisper, Con.” “I didn’t know I was whispering,” whispered Constantia. “And why do you keep staring at the bed?” said Josephine, raising her voice almost defiantly. “There’s nothing _on_ the bed.” “Oh, Jug, don’t say so!” said poor Connie. “At any rate, not so loudly.”