"Ah, well," he said, "we would save some gentle souls a lot of suffering if we could. It’s no use evading life, you see, and its consequences. Death has stolen into Miss Annie’s beautiful bedroom, from an ugly sewer across the way. Nothing we could do for her now can save her." Miss Annie died on a quiet morning when Elma lay dreaming of ham sandwiches. Elma never forgot that, nor how dreadful it seemed that she had never asked for Miss Annie nor Miss Grace, but just dreamed of what she would eat. "You had had a lot to stand," Nurse told her a week or two afterwards when she heard about Miss Annie for the first time, "and it’s a compensation that’s often given to us when we are ill, just to be peaceful and not think at all." Dr. Merryweather had wakened up Miss Grace finally in a sharp manner. "There’s that poor child been ill all this time and you’ve never even seen her. Take her along some flowers and let her see that you are not grieving too much for Miss Annie. She won’t get better if she worries about you." Then to Elma. "Cheer up Miss Grace when she comes. You have your life before you, and she has had to put all hers behind her. Don’t let her be down if you can help it." In this wise he pitted the two against one another, so that they met with great fortitude. "Why, my dear, how pretty your hair is," Miss Grace had burst out. Elma was lying on a couch near the window by this time. She looked infinitely fragile. "Oh, Miss Grace, it is a wig," she replied. Miss Grace laughed in a jerky hysterical sort of manner. "Then I wish I wore a wig," said she. Elma smiled. "Do you know, that’s what they all say. They come in and tell me in a most surprised manner, "Why, how well you are looking!" and say they never saw me so pretty and all that kind of thing. And then I look in my mirror, and I see quite plainly that I’m a perfect fright. But I don’t care, you know. Mabel and Jean know now how ill I’ve been. I’m so glad they didn’t before, aren’t you? It would have spoiled Jean’s coming home like a conqueror. They say she sings beautifully. And oh, Miss Grace, I’ve such a lot to tell you. One thing is about Mr. Symington. You know I never said why he went away. It was because Miss Meredith made him believe that Robin was engaged to Mabel, and she wasn’t at all. It made her appear like a flirt, you know. Didn’t it?" Miss Grace nodded. "Well, I’ve been thinking and thinking. I can’t tell you how I’ve been dreaming about Mr. Symington. Well, now, I’ve been thinking, ’Couldn’t we invite him to Isobel’s wedding?’" Miss Grace’s eyes gleamed. "Fancy Mr. Symington at breakfast at some outlandish place. A letter arrives. He opens it. ’Ha! The wedding invitation. Robin Meredith, the bounder!’ I beg your pardon, Miss Grace. ’Robin Meredith to Isobel--what--niece of--why what’s this?’ What will he do, Miss Grace?" "Come to the wedding, sure," said Miss Grace laughingly.