Miss Ethel herself so belonged to the generation when a married woman was necessarily on a different and higher level than an "old maid," that though she knew her sister in many ways to be a fool, she yet bowed to the unassailable superiority of the widow. She really did feel that the useless legs of her widowed sister were more worthy of consideration than her own unwedded limbs as she trudged upstairs. When she spread the measuring tape across the floor in front of the window, her glance wandered for a moment to the house opposite where a fat woman in an untidy blouse was standing in the doorway laughing and talking with the milkman. A small child dragged a noisy cart along the pavement, eating at the same time a large piece of Yorkshire pie. Then a second woman opened the next door and joined the fun. They were all jolly together, self-satisfied. They had done well, and were relaxing after the rush of the season; but they seemed very far away from Miss Ethel as she looked out of the window. Still she never thought of envying them their jollity and self-satisfaction. Deep in her heart she knew she would rather be herself with nothing, than such as they with everything. She had only a vague sense of uneasiness, which was deepened by the sound of the gramophone next door grinding out "Home, sweet Home." For her sake the old man--who lived with his daughter during the winter when lodgers were few--had sinned against the law which prohibited his use of the new gramophone. This was partly because he really wanted to cheer Miss Ethel, and partly because he realized his daughter's good fortune better when he thought of the ladies listening to him through the wall. But Miss Ethel's attention was soon distracted, for a baby wailed in the house on the other side, and a fish cart went past ringing a loud bell to warn the women to run out with their dishes. The bell was harsh in tone, filling the street with clamour, and when the cart started again after a purchase the bell pealed afresh each time. It was some time before the desire of Emerald Avenue for the harvest of the sea was satisfied, but in the comparative silence which at last ensued, Miss Ethel pressed her hand to her forehead as she rose dizzily from her knees. For a moment or two the house opposite looked blurred, then the haziness passed off, and she saw the road lying empty in the grey light--the lace-curtained windows, the sideboard with a mirror back on the far side of the room, even the vase of faded flowers.