"I think she wishes for some reason to keep away from them just now. She suggested that I should come to you when I asked her if there was anyone to whom she could turn. She told me you had helped her to have a holiday in a convalescent home." These were the right people. The quiet grey house, the high church room, the delicate outlines of the woman, clear and fine in spite of all the comfort.... The All Souls Nursing Sisters.... They _were_ different ... emotional and unhygienic ... cushions and hot water bottles ... good food ... early service--Lent--stuffy churches--fasting. But they would not pass by on the other side ... she sat waiting ... the atmosphere of the room made much of her weeks of charity and her long night of watching, the quiet presence in it knew of these things without being told. The weariness of her voice had poured out its burden, meeting and flowing into the patient weariness of the other women and changing. There was no longer any anger or impatience. Together, consulting as accomplices, they would see what was the best thing to do--whatever it was would be something done on a long long road going on forever; nobody outside, nobody left behind. When they had decided they would leave it, happy and serene and glance at the invisible sun and make little confident jests together. She was like Mrs. Bailey--and someone farther back--mother. This was the secret life of women. They smiled at God. But they all flattered men. All these women.... "They ought to be informed. Will you call on them--to-day? Or would you prefer that I should do so?" "I will go--at lunch-time" said Miriam promptly. "Meanwhile I shall inform the clergy. It is a case for the parish. You must not bear the responsibility a moment longer." Miriam relaxed in her capacious chair, a dimness before her eyes. The voice was going on, unnoticing, the figure had turned towards a bureau. There were little straggles about the fine hair--Miss Jenny Perne--the Pernes. She was a lonely old maid.... One must listen ... but London had sprung back ... in full open midday roar; brilliant and fresh; dim, intimate, vast, from the darkness. This woman preferred some provincial town ... Wolverhampton ... Wolverhampton ... in the little room in Marylebone Road Miss Dear was unconsciously sleeping--a pauper. 5 There was a large bunch of black grapes on the little table by the bedside and a book. "Hullo you literary female" said Miriam seizing it ... Red Pottage ... a curious novelish name, difficult to understand. Miss Dear sat up, straight and brisk, blooming smiles. What an easy life. The light changing in the room and people bringing novels and grapes, smart new novels that people were reading. "What did you do at lunch time dear?" "Oh I had to go and see a female unexpectedly." "I found your note and thought perhaps you had called in at Baker Street." "At your Association, d'you mean? Oh my dear lady."